Much Needed Therapy 1/2 (by Greer Masterson)

“Ready?” Jules asked, barely above a whisper. Her eyes locked onto mine as she opened her mouth and gently engulfed the head of the throbbing red cock in her hand. Her soft, muffled moans were barely audible against the strained breathing from the man lying prostrate in the alley. She moved slowly up and down the length of the fat shaft. He was longer and thicker than I expected. Had I expected anything? I wasn’t sure, but this wasn’t it.

My head swam from the smell of him and I turned to the side, but I couldn’t take my eyes away.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, her lips leaving his cock with a smack. “He really stinks. I bet he hasn’t showered in days.”

“Months,” I mumbled.

Her face snapped towards the sound of my voice even though her eyes had never left mine, as if her conscious mind had become so disconnected from her subconscious as to forget that I was there.

“No, days,” she responded matter-of-factly and, straightening her back, shuddered. “After too long our bodies start to produce bacteria that snack on the nasty stuff our sweat glands produce and this”—she sniffed loudly—“heady aroma would be seriously diminished after months.” A small light fixture hung forlornly above a rusted red door nearby, giving off a dim light that shone on her bare breasts. She shifted, keeping her grip on the cock, and grinned at me. She adjusted her bra with one hand while she stroked him with the other. “$675." My gaze returned to meet hers. “The bra. Agent Provocateur. Though I hardly think he cares.” She looked at it, then back up at me. “Do you like it?” Her question seemed to be equally teasing and sincere. “It’s the only open cup bra I own. I’m not sure what kind of statement it makes. ‘I’m slutty but I went to the trouble of putting something on?’ I don’t know. I like the feeling of wearing a bra and knowing that there’s really nothing there. I’m certain everyone thinks I’m wearing a bra. At least it looks that way under my blouse. You can see the shoulder straps.” The man moaned loudly. “Shhhhh,” she chided softly. She lowered her head and took him in her mouth again. She worked his cock for a few moments, then shifted her legs so she could lower herself closer to him. She swallowed him, burying her face in his wiry, matted pubic hair.

I watched in horror and disgust and painful arousal. My own cock strained uncomfortably against my jeans.

He moaned loudly again and she withdrew his entire length from her throat, gasping for air. She stroked him while she caught her breath. She shook her hair over her shoulders and gazed at me again with her pale blue eyes. The small light cast a bluish pall on her skin and she looked almost comically icy despite the unseasonably warm temperatures for September. She smiled and massaged her breast. “You like them?” she asked. “Roy bought them for me after Abe was weaned. He said my formerly magnificent boobs needed a restoration after all the mileage Abe had put on them.” Her brow furrowed. “They’re really nice. I don’t need a bra at all.” After a slight pause, she reached behind her back, shrugged her shoulders, and the bra-that-wasn’t slid down her arms. She switched the cock to her other hand and let it slide off the rest of the way, tossing it me. “Hold onto that for me, will you?” she winked.

I glanced around, nervous for the first time. The bra had really been no clothing at all, but this was symbolically more brazen. I shook my head, feeling foolish. Jules was sucking some strange man’s dick in an alley near the waterfront. Anyone could walk by and see this and we’d all be up shit creek.

“Not down here,” she said like she was reading my mind. “People coming from the bars and restaurants will be heading for the Spring Garden Station or to one of the parking lots in the opposite direction from us. Besides, no one walks into a dark alley at this time of night. Except us, I mean. The only thing we have to worry about is if there’s a fire somewhere. The headlights from the fire trucks will light us up like daytime when they leave the firehouse.” She noticed my nervous glance. “I’m mostly kidding about the firehouse.”

The man moaned a low, rumbling protest as Jules released his cock and stood. He lifted his head to look at her. She was nearly six feet tall in stocking feet and tonight she wore midnight blue Manolo Blahnik pumps. Her large breasts were round and heavy, their man-made perfection marred only by the small tell-tale fold of skin near her arms that sometimes happened when a woman had implants that were too weighty. Her hips were wider than they’d been in college—likely a consequence of having had three children in the last ten years—but she was still stunning. Maybe even moreso now. Her face had lost all traces of baby fat that had remained from her youth and her elegant bone structure gave her a beauty that only comes with having won the genetic lottery. “Did you bring the condoms from the car?” she asked without looking at me.

“Yes,” I replied, sounding small and alien. She continued to stand by him, unmoving except for her fingertips that absentedmindedly rubbed against her mons. I retrieved a condom from my pocket and held it out to her. I waited. The world seemed to have stopped. I knew there were things happening all around us. The noise of nightlife. The drone of traffic along I-95. But the world had stopped in our alley. Then she moved.

I watched with rapt attention as she swung her leg over to stand astride him. He grinned, a rotting, dirty grin, squinting his eyes nearly shut in pure joy with the thought of what was, beyond all probability, about to happen. She looked down at his cock, but stood there without moving. Was she having second thoughts? Suddenly she squatted. I glanced at the condom in my outstretched hand, then quickly forgot it as she reached under herself and grasped his cock once more. She moved her panties to the side and began inserting him. “It’s bigger than it looks,” she whispered. She shuddered as she slowly took in his entire length. When he was fully inserted, she stopped and her body convulsed. She squeezed her knees together, a look of pain on her face. “Oh, God,” she breathed, relaxing. “That was quick.” Her feet slid out behind her and her knees went to the ground. The man beneath her began humping up into her. “Slow down,” she told him, a soothing tone in her voice. “Slowly.” He ignored her, his hands reaching out to grasp at her smooth, ivory waist. He pounded into her like a jackhammer. Rather than try to stop him, she put her hands on his chest and arched her back, sliding her knees across the rough asphalt and spreading her thighs widely for him, her breasts bouncing violently. His breathing grew ragged and fast-paced. “Are you gonna come?” she asked, sounding excited. A few seconds later he thrust into her and buried himself, lifting her knees off the ground. She gasped and a loud, hoarse groan escaped from the depths of this soul. “Oh, fuck,” she said, a little too loudly for my comfort, throwing her head back, her body convulsing again. “Yes! Yes! Come in my pussy! Oh, God, yes!” The man reached up and locked onto her breasts as her body shook and jerked. “Oh, my God,” she rasped several minutes later through clenched teeth, “he’s still coming.”

When their spasms had ended and their breathing had normalized, Jules stood and stretched her arms above her head like she’d just awoken from a pleasant nap. She turned to me, smiling broadly. The small light somehow brightly illuminated a strand of semen that was swinging between her legs. I stared, speechless, as come streamed down the insides of her thighs and realized I was still holding the condom out towards her. She looked at my outstretched hand and reached between her legs. “Oops,” she whispered, and shrugged. She brought her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, Matthew,” she said, “you really need more fruit and vegetables in your diet.” She licked her fingers clean and readjusted her panties. Smiling at me again, she walked over and took the condom, then put it back in my pocket. She pecked me on the cheek and turned back to the man, who was now pulling his pants onto his legs. “I’m not sure if I’m having office hours next week, Matthew,” she told him quietly. “I’m working a lot of overtime this weekend so Gordy will have enough material for the story he’s writing.”

‘Matthew’ looked confused. He stared at her silently before grumbling a mild protest I couldn’t make out, then shuffled away. She’s insane, I thought. She’s lost her damned mind.

Jules scanned the ground around her, turning to her left and right. “Have you seen my bra?” she asked. “I can’t see where I placed it. I’d hate to lose another one, not that Roy would notice, but it seems like a waste at $675 a pop.” She paused and cocked her head to the side, then laughed lightly. “So to speak.” She examined the ground around her for a few more moments, then shrugged again. “Oh, well. Let’s go. We have places to be.” She started walking towards the street.

“Jules, are you, well,…going like that?” I asked, and quickly caught up. I felt something at my rear and reached back. It was her ‘bra’ stuck in my back pocket. I yanked it out and nudged her arm with it.

She glanced down. “Perfect! Hold onto it for me.” Her pace quickened as she headed out of the alley. A car drove by and honked. Brake lights came on and it screeched to a halt. Jules seemed to care not. I hurried to the car, furiously tapping the unlock button on my key fob. She calmly opened the door and climbed in as I sprinted around to the other side. The stopped car had started to reverse as I pulled away from the curb. I quickly turned at the next intersection. “Ooo! Do you have any Kleenex?” Still concentrating on the road ahead and the rear view mirror at the same time, I fumbled with the console. “Perfect!” she said, extracting a small box. She wadded a handful, pulled her panties to the side, and stuffed it in. “Probably not very healthy, but I didn’t want to get your seat dirty. Watch out!” I was staring, shaking my head in disbelief, and nearly sideswiped an oncoming car. I quickly pulled into a nearby alley and turned off the lights. I was lightheaded. I felt sick.

“Are you okay? You look really pale, even for this light.”

My head was pounding. I didn’t know what to say. “I...”

“You didn’t believe me,” Jules said softly. “You think I’m crazy.”

“That would be a start.”

“I told you.”

“I thought it was just dirty talk, like college,” I protested.

“Dirty talk? Like coll—you think that was just talk?”

“It...”

“Oh, Gordy. You didn’t know? I thought you knew.” She looked at me miserably. “You didn’t know.”

I thought I might pass out.

I’d met Julie Jensen at a party when we were freshmen in college. Jules was, then, a portrait of innocence in a cable-knit sweater and faded blue jeans with her blonde ponytail, bright smile, and clear, blue eyes. She was tall. That was the first thing I’d noticed after her smile. Her blue jeans were almost painted on, but not in an obscene way. She had long, slender legs and petite little ankles. She’d noticed me staring and, instead of being put off, had approached and teased me about it. We’d hit it off instantly, with her joking that it was due to me being the only person at the party taller than her. We snuck her into my dorm room afterwards because we hadn’t wanted to go our separate ways. We’d cuddled and tried to stay quiet so that my Bible-thumping roommate in the bunk below wouldn’t run tattling to the Resident Assistant down the hall and get us written up for an honor code violation. I’d finally gotten the nerve to kiss her at sunrise. When my roommate left for Sunday school, I was surprised when she stripped me naked and went down on me. It was the third blowjob I’d ever had, but the other two had been nothing like this and had only occurred after a copious quantity of quid-pro-quo. Julie had licked and sucked me like my cock was precious. I fell in love instantly. “I’m about to…,” I’d started, and she doubled her efforts. I came and felt her push me into her throat. I’d never felt anything like it before. I cried out loudly as I released what felt like great, gushing torrents. She waited patiently until I was done and slowly extracted herself, heaving for air. “Wow,” she’d said, breathing heavily. “You’ll do.” She’d giggled and started removing her clothes. “I’ll give you five minutes to rest and then it’s my turn.” She’d leaned back while I caught my breath and, placing one foot on each side of my waist, started touching herself. Of course I’d seen porn, but it was nothing like this soft, caring, up close, and personal experience. Being only eighteen at the time, I was ready to go again in almost no time. We made passionate love for nearly an hour. It sounds corny, but when we finished together, I knew she was The One. We spent the following six months exploring each other and falling in love.

As happens in many relationships, time was our enemy. We grew too familiar. Passion turned into complacency. When Jules found me flirting with another girl at a fraternity mixer late in our sophomore year, she was devastated. We spent several months afterwards coolly going through the motions. I expected the break to come when our apartment lease was up and the wait was difficult for me. Our relationship may have hit a rut, but I still loved her.

One night, she surprised me.

“Do you have any fantasies?” she asked instead of the normal ante-slumber banter about what had happened on The Amazing Race.

“Like being a billionaire playboy?” I joked.

“No. Like…sexual fantasies.”

“Sexual fantasies?”

“Yeah,” she prodded.

“I…never really thought about it, I guess.”

“Not at all?” She seemed disappointed.

“I don’t know. I guess I…have, but I…I can’t remember anything specific.”

“No, no. Generally. Not a specific fantasy you jerk off to in the bathroom.”

“Hey! That’s not—”

She laughed. “Like I had no idea. Seriously, is there something you fantasize about when you do that?”

My ears burned. Big tits, I thought. No foreplay. A girlfriend who didn’t ask stupid questions or try to embarrass me.

“Don’t get mad,” she frowned. “Here, I’ll start. I have a fantasy about having sex in public where someone might see me. Not out in the open. Somewhere where anyone might be walking by and discover what I was doing if they would only pause to look.”

“I—”

“And…then I have sex with them, too,” she said quickly. Her eyes were wide, like she was surprised. I stared at her, blinking stupidly. She gazed back at me, a smile breaking out on her face. “So do you?”

“I…” My eyes were still wide. She looked at me expectantly. “How often do you fantasize about this?”

She hesitated. I didn’t know for sure what she was thinking, but she seemed to have made up her mind about whatever it was. “All the time. I don’t remember exactly when it started. Maybe I’ve always had these fantasies. But I really remember it after the Oklahoma State game. You remember? We parked at the Omni and went to that bar on Seventh. You kept teasing me under the table. You made me give you my panties and you kept teasing and teasing. We barely made it back to the car. Remember?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She was lost in her memory. “We went around the side of your car and I pulled up my skirt. Remember? Remember when that drunk guy stumbled into the parking garage and started peeing a few cars away from us? I was trying to get you to be still but you kept fucking me. I remember thinking ‘What if he sees us?’ But you kept going and I was sooooo turned on I thought ‘So what? Let him watch.’ Then it just popped into my head. ‘Or let him join in.’ And I came. Remember putting your hand over my mouth?”

A change had come over her. As she talked she’d wrapped her arms around herself and started squeezing her breasts together. By the end of the story she had grabbed her panties and pulled them tightly against her sex. I watched her, mesmerized. She realized what she was doing and stopped.

“So…that’s…all the time now. Not at first. When you were still attracted to me.” Her face flushed bright red and she looked sad.

“You think I’m not attracted to you?”

“You…I know you fantasize about what’s-her-name. The girl you went to high school with. Piper.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. Sometimes you talk in your sleep. And you were flirting with that A-Phi that looks like her,” she said indignantly.

“I was,” I admitted. “But I don’t fantasize about Piper. Or Jamie. Her name is ‘Jamie.’”

“Then who?” she demanded.

“You.”

“Liar!” she spat.

“It’s true!” I responded, surprised at her sudden anger. “I go in the bathroom and jerk off about that first night in my dorm room when you blew me like I was some sort of god. I jerk off thinking about the first time I came on your face and you walked down the hallway to the ladies’ room looking like that. I can’t believe there was no one around to see it! I wanted my shitbird roommate to know you weren’t just beautiful—you were a total slut.” It was my turn for my eyes to pop wide in surprise. ‘Slut’ wasn’t what I thought of her then. ‘Nympho,’ maybe. I waited for her to slap me. Instead, she jumped up from the bed and dragged me out onto the balcony of our small apartment. She ripped my boxers down and swallowed my cock immediately. I glanced around uneasily but groaned loudly as her head bobbed.

“What else do you jerk off thinking about?” she asked breathlessly as I slid from her lips. She slipped her panties off and flung them to the side. She was like a different person. “What else?” She took me in her mouth again.

I struggled, unable to concentrate on anything but her soft, warm mouth. “I…I want to…come inside you. Without a condom.”

She flopped eagerly onto the chaise next to us and spread her legs, beckoning with her finger. Her face and her chest were bright red. “Come inside me.” I hesitated. She reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling me between her obscenely spread legs. I felt her guide my cock inside her. She was hotter than I’d ever felt before. “Do you like fucking me out here? Where everyone can see?” she whispered into my ear. “Would you like it if someone watched us fuck? Would that be slutty? Would you like it if I was a slut? Do you want me to be your little slut? Do you like it when I say ‘fucking’ instead of ‘making love?’ Is that slutty? Do you like to fuck me? Do you like to fuck my hot, wet pussy?” Her dirty talk sent me over the edge and I released, moaning loudly enough for our neighbors to hear. Stars exploded in my eyes. A tingling sensation rippled from my lower back up my spine and out across my shoulders. I planted my hands on either side of her and arched my back, trying to push deeper. A sliver of light fell across my shoulder and onto the window behind Jules. I opened my eyes fully to the reflection of one of our neighbors peeking through their blinds at us. I felt Julie’s body stiffen. She groaned dramatically, without shame. As I pumped the last of my come into her, I glanced at the silhouette reflected in the window behind her head. Whoever it was had stayed there and watched.

I sat quietly, the noise from my engine the only sound. I could sense her looking at me. I didn’t want to return her gaze. I wanted to be anywhere but here with her.

“Gordy, I...I wish I’d known.”

“Please stop.” My voice was lower than normal.

“Maybe I can explain.”

“I don’t think you can. I don’t want you to explain.” I was surprised at how calm I sounded given the tumult of thoughts and emotions coursing at light speed through every cell in my body. “I’m going to drop you at home.”

“But, Gordy, I—”

“Don’t.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. Her door opened.

“What are you doing?”

“I still have therapy. Much needed therapy. Go home if you want. I can’t.”

“Of course you fucking can,” I hissed. “Get back in the car!”

“No. My night isn’t over. Can you hand me my coat?”

I stared at her, trying to slow down the rush of memories that were exactly as I remembered them to be and somehow completely different at the same time. She was still beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than she was in college. Inexplicably, she still had that look of innocence about her, despite the fact that she was standing in an alley in her panties while some unknown man’s semen slowly oozed out of her.

“Look, Gordy, I’m sorry that this came as a shock to you. Had I known I never would have brought you along. I would have maybe eased you into it, if at all. But either hand me my coat or take me to my next session. Okay?”

I blinked at her stupidly. She stood there for a few more moments, then climbed back into my car.

“Come on,” she said gently, and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

I backed out of the alley and continued down Spring Garden Street. We drove in silence. After that night on our balcony, our sex life...changed. At first we had sex in public, but secluded, places. A park bench in a remote corner of a park at night. A bathroom stall in the ladies’ room on the fifth floor of the ACES Building. A dark corner of a parking garage. Then we got bolder. A study carrel in the Undergraduate Library. The walkways along Waller Creek near Sixth Street. When we went off the deep end, we plunged headfirst. Jules met the neighbor who’d watched us on the balcony and invited him to watch up close. We drank too much one night and she ended up blowing him while I fucked her from behind. Then she put a posting on Craig’s List seeking voyeurs. One night we had ten strange people, men and women, in our small apartment watching me fuck Jules in two dozen different positions. Then we combined the two, putting on a live sex show for a twenty people in an open field off of Airport Boulevard. I went on inactive status with my fraternity. My life revolved around my adventures with Jules and doing enough with everything else to keep my parents off my back.

On the nights that we’d stayed in, whether from mental or physical exhaustion, we told each other stories. Julie’s usually had something to do with anonymous partners and sex in public. Mine were summaries of stories I’d found on the Internet or an embellished rehash of something we’d done. As our adventures grew bolder and riskier, Julie’s stories grew dirtier and more perverted—tipping for a pizza by blowing the delivery guy, or jerking off a homeless man, or inserting a funnel into her pussy and letting some anonymous guy jerk off into it. Eventually, Jules took over as the sole storyteller. Her creativity was limitless. Her stories had been so detailed, so...

Real.

“Turn here,” she said, jolting me from my thoughts. “On 22nd.”

I drove slowly through the neighborhood. I knew this wasn’t exactly a rough part of Philadelphia, but relative to other cities...

“Turn up ahead,” she directed, “and park wherever.”

“Eastern State Penitentiary?”

“Yep. Spooky, isn’t it? Rumor is it’s actually haunted. They should be finished putting up the Halloween stuff soon. Want to go when it opens?”

Strangely enough, her attempt at normal conversation made the moment seem even weirder. Like a mucus-spewing Martian trying to have a casual conversation about the weather forecast. “Were all the stories you told me in college true?” I blurted.

“Yes,” she said simply and without hesitation.

“And all the stories you’ve told me over the last few months were—”

“—true.”

“All of them.”

“Yes. There’s a parking spot.”

“What?”

“A parking spot,” she pointed. I shook my head, but did as she wished. Jules got out, still clad only in her thong and Manolo pumps. She shook out her hair and it fanned across her back and around her shoulders, then tossed her coat onto the car seat. “Come on,” she said and headed into the alley. I followed for a few steps, then stopped and looked around, suddenly nervous. There were two couples walking in the direction we’d come from and hadn’t seemed to have noticed that a tall, naked woman had just walked into the alley. I looked the other way and saw no one. For a moment, I thought about leaving her, about getting out of the craziness she’d dropped on me. Images of her from her stories danced across my mind. I remembered how her stories never failed to arouse me in college and now felt betrayed and ashamed.

I was still aroused even now and felt shame again. I glanced down the alley where she was some fifty or sixty feet away. She had squatted near a dumpster and appeared to be talking to someone, but I couldn’t see who or hear what was said. I saw two feet slowly sprout from behind the dumpster and saw her reach. She appeared to be moving her arm up and down.

About halfway through our junior year, she told me she’d been walking back from class to our apartment off of San Gabriel. A man had asked her for the rest of her bottled water. He hadn’t seemed like the typical Drag Worm who hung around the UT campus. Drag Worms asked for money or cigarettes, smelled like cloves or patchouli, loitered in packs, and climbed into their daddy’s or mommy’s hand-me-down BMW or Mercedes when they’d had enough for the day.

This one had asked for water.

So Jules took pity on him and gave him her bottle. A few steps away, pity got the best of her. She turned and went into one of the corner stores that dotted West Campus, bought cold water, bananas, an apple, some pre-made sandwiches, and some bottled soup. She returned to him with her plastic bag full of goodies and patiently waited while he tearfully stowed them in his rucksack. He was older than the normal array of Drag Worms, she’d told me, and wore a tweed coat with elbow patches over his zip-up hoodie. We used to joke about the mildness of Austin winters, but she knew from talking to him that the cold in the few hours before sunrise could be a killer when you didn’t have a roof over your head. Crumpled newspaper was an adequate insulator, he’d told her, but so many people were using the Internet for news now that discarded newspaper had become relatively scarce.

He’d thanked her and went on his way, but she couldn’t let go of her concern. She rummaged around and found REI sleeping bags we’d bought for a camping trip we never went on and headed out to find him. She scoured a dozen blocks of West Campus before finding him using air conditioner condensate to wash himself. She was embarrassed and shocked, she’d said, and so was he. But she couldn’t help noticing that he was huge. After he’d covered up, she set the sleeping bags near his rucksack. He teared up again and thanked her profusely. He spent so much time on the necessities, she’d thought, he probably had little time for pleasure. She frowned. ‘Leisure’ she’d meant. Surely she’d meant ‘leisure.’

The image of his huge cock jumped into her head. Subconsciously she reached out while he babbled his gratitude and touched the lump in his pants. He froze. She didn’t know why she’d done it and looked up at his surprised face. She reached out again and ran her hand along the length of it. She wanted to stop but something compelled her. She saw her other hand move to unzip his pants. He moved not an inch. She watched, disconnected, as her hands extracted the huge cock. It was limp. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he was uncertain. Maybe it wasn’t possible. She began stroking him as they both otherwise remained still. “He didn’t smell that bad,” she’d told me. “He mostly smelled kind of like that pink liquid soap you used to see in convenience store bathrooms until they made everything touchless. You remember? The kind that had the plug in the bottom that you had to press up to release the soap?” It took little coaxing for him to grow to his full, bloated size.

It was her favorite story to tell me. On the first telling of the story, she’d only given him a handjob. When I heard it I was captivated. He was long enough that she could use both hands on him at the same time. She’d pulled up her sweatshirt and bared herself to him and he’d come all over her chest. It was dirty and nasty, but, strangely, with a hint of raw innocence. That she cast herself as the main character made it all the more evocative. On the first retelling, it was a blowjob. As good as she was at handjobs, she couldn’t get him to come and had finally taken the plunge and used her mouth on him. She couldn’t fit him in her throat, but had taken him as far as she could and swallowed every gush of his hot come.

On the third retelling and each retelling after, she’d had sex with him there in the alley near Bert’s Bar-B-Q in broad daylight with other students walking on the sidewalk less than thirty feet away. She’d been so turned on by the size of his cock and the thought of how perverted it would be for a beautiful, blonde coed to fuck a homeless man that she had pulled down her yoga pants past her ass and tried to let him fuck her from behind. When that wasn’t working the way she’d wanted, she kicked off her Salomon trail shoes and stripped completely out of her Lululemons. She’d laid down on the hard ground and pulled her legs back against her chest. He’d fallen on her like a lion upon its prey. She watched with bated breath as he positioned his fat cock and pushed into her in one delicious, painful invasion. She was barely ready for it and it had hurt terribly and felt amazing at the same time. “It was like much needed therapy, you know?” she’d told me once. “He spent so much time trying to find food and clean water and a dry, safe place to sleep, that he never had any time to even think about things like TV and hanging out with friends and sex. Now that he had life’s necessities, at least for the night, he had time for something extra. Something for the soul.” He’d pistoned in and out of her for less than thirty seconds, making a loud slapping sound against her lithe, creamy white thighs, before he made one last push as deep as he could go, stretching her like she’d never been stretched before.

It hadn’t dawned on her until that second that she hadn’t given a thought to what diseases he might have or that she might get pregnant and, for an instant, she thought about pushing him off of her and making him come on her stomach, or on the ground. She’d already let him fuck her. She’d done enough. It wouldn’t be an insult, she’d thought, but the one logical choice she’d made in a series of illogical choices. The feeling of his pulsing cock, followed quickly by the first gush of warm come against her insides, filled her mind only with the undeniable need to spread her legs wider, and angle her sex better, so that he could go deeper and fill her with as much as she could hold. She orgasmed so intensely she nearly passed out. They lay together for several more minutes until he climbed off of her and left her there, taking in great gulps of oxygen, her legs limp across the cold pavement. He wasn’t sure what to say and glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes. She sat up and hugged him, then thanked him, then fumbled for her backpack and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, then changed her mind and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, then grabbed all of the cash she had and shoved it into his hands. He sat stock still, a look of utter confusion on his face. She pecked him on the cheek and thanked him again, then grabbed her backpack and headed for our apartment. So lost in her euphoria was she that it took three blocks before she realized she’d left her shoes and her pants in the alley behind Bert’s. She returned and retrieved them, faintly hoping that he was still there, but he’d disappeared. She was disappointed enough that, in her preoccupation, she carried her shoes and pants back to our apartment. Luckily, she’d told me, she hadn’t met a single soul on the short walk. West Campus often became like a ghost town late in the Fall Semester after football had ended and finals were around the corner. It took less than an hour for her to realize she wanted him again. It was dirty and perverse. She quickly pulled on a pair of running shorts and went looking for him again.