Story: Just an Average Fuck

Let me get this straight first: as fucks go, he was reasonable. Passable. Okay. His enthusiasm carried him through, but he had no technique, his body was not as good as I’d expected it to be and he was naive.

So why would I go back for more? Of course, it was no use saying that to him. How do you tell a guy that he sucks in bed? Especially when he doesn’t suck. Or lick. Or flick. The answer is, you don’t tell him he sucks, you just move on, and let him leave the whiney messages on your voicemail, or the Facebook messages or whatever. Who gives a shit, right?

The actual event itself was fun. It was my birthday, the twenty-third or something like that. We were in a bar, and Dominic walked in with his buddy, a guy I actually know, what’s his name, Freddie or something. So Freddie comes in with Dominic and they’re like hiding in a corner, Dominic being all shy about talking to girls. Yeah, I know, like I need that in my life.

So I don’t pay them so much attention, but it’s a bar and it’s my birthday and the girls are all telling me I gotta get off my tits. Candace has told the bartender already and he’s lining up a funnel. So they get me a stool and sit me against the bar, with my head back and lying on a tiny rag of a towel on the bar top. And the bartender takes the funnel and sticks it between my lips, and then he starts getting every whipped up, so they’re all whooping it up in a half-circle around me. So then Candace holds my head so as I can’t move it and the bartender does a countdown and gets all my buddies to chant it–and then he starts pouring three bottles into the goddamn funnel, and he fills it and I’ve just got shit liquor filling up my inside. Then I start coughing and the funnel comes out and I drip tequila and rum and some sweet smelling crap all down my front. They call it an instant cocktail. Instant fuck-you-up-juice is what it is.

After that, I get to talking to Dominic and Freddie and he’s kind of cute and so when we leave later on, I pull him into my taxi ride and drag him upstairs. And like I said, I know I was drunk and all, but he seriously wasn’t that good a fuck. Here’s what he did. He started kissing me, right, and you know when the kissing is like, all passionate and romantic. Seriously, there’s a place for that, and it ain’t when you’re fucked out of your head on liquor and you’ve dragged a guy home who has barely said five sentences in an entire evening. But he’s acting like it’s our wedding night or something, or like he’s read some shitty sex manual which tells him that girls gotta have their titties rubbed or how he’s got to take it real slow so she’s got a chance to say no when he’s gonna put his schlong in her heinie.

Fuck that. If I take a guy home, I want him to fuck me, and fuck me properly, not give me some sort of dental exam with his tongue. So what I do is I start pulling off his clothes and it’s like he doesn’t know what to do. His eyes are staring wide at me while he’s trying to lick my lips while we’re kissing, like that’s gonna be some huge turn on. Freddie told me he used to read back issues of Cosmo to try to understand what women want. Bizarro.

Anyhow, by now, I’m just wanting to get some good old fucking going on and I’m pulling off his pants and trying to get a good grip on his cock so I can get him in the right place, yeah? Then I’m naked and he’s just got a t-shirt on and he pulls it off, all manly, and it’s the first time he’s done anything like that and I see why I liked the guy, for his sparkling eyes and just something I can’t figure out about him, a sort of sadness that makes me just want to grab him and bury his face in my titties.

And I lie back to let him come down and start getting on with some good ol’ fucking, yeah, a good, hard screw. That feeling you get when you just want a guy to come and nail you, no pissing around. But Dominic, right, he goes down on me. That’s good yeah? What’s she complaining about, you’re thinking. Well the sonofabitch had no idea how to lick a pussy. It was like it was his first time, and not in a good way. He was licking the hairs, I mean, how dumb is that? And any time he got close to dipping his tongue inside, he sort of stopped, like he was afraid of what would happen. Maybe it was the taste. No smart comments, right?

I grabbed him by his head and pulled him up so he had no excuse for not just fucking me. And that was the best part of the whole fucking night, even the goddam cocktails. He started off slow, like he was afraid of hurting me, and I’m like “Oh, fuck me, harder, harder, just fucking fuck me you fucker.” So he speeds up his pace and I’m finally enjoying myself, and his face, his sad lonely face, is screwed up in a tight ball and it’s turning me on, this weird guy who I’ve never met before is turning me on because I want to see his face turned into a scrunchie, I want to see his eyelids flicker when the moment hits him and he spews inside me.

Yeah, he was good at that.

But then afterwards, he wants to stay up and talk and I’m almost snoring, so I just turn over and sleep it off. Then in the morning I wake up to see he’s half-dressed and I’m trying to pretend I’m still asleep so I don’t have to talk to him. Seriously, what was I going to say? He sucked. But instead of just getting up and going, like most guys, he sticks around, and it seems for one moment of terror he’s going to wait til I’m awake, and just lie there and stare at me til I talk to him. I don’t know what it was but he grabbed his shit and left, and I discovered a stupid note he’d written, something like ‘Happy Birthday, I hope you liked my present as much as I enjoyed giving it’ or some stupid sentimental crap. Maybe for the right guy, but not some random fuck. I showed it my ladies and we laughed harder than when we had that big bag of weed.

Like I said, it was no memorable fuck, so in two days I’d forgotten about him. No, that’s wrong, I’d forgotten about the fucking, but he was a royal pain in the ass. First he calls the apartment and gets all familiar, saying I’m like his girl and can I come to the phone. Candace goes “Well call her on her cell,” which makes him all flustered. But he insists and finally after three days he’s not getting the message so I take the call.

“Hey baby,” he says.

“Who’s this?”

He’s totally thrown and the line goes silent but I want to make sure he’s got the message so I don’t hang up.

“It’s Dominic.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“I was just–”

“Oh, oh, oh Dominic,” I say, like I just figured out who he was. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Then he stutters and stammers and I almost feel sorry for the guy but then Candace looks at me and I remember what a pee eye tee aye he’s been. And he starts going on about the note and so I go “oh yeah, that, Candace thought it was totally hilarious.” And she’s cracking up and I start giggling as well and I gotta get off the phone so  I just say “Yeah, see you around Duane,” and out down the phone. And after that he stops bothering me.

Now fast forward two years, to the end of college, and I’m getting all serious about my career, and how I’m not gonna just waste my life, so I’m doing a business course, just a couple of days, you know the sort of thing. They put you in shitty rooms and you meet other people and you get loaded. And guess who rolls up.

He’s cool, not rushing up to me and acting like we’re friends, but he’s like “Oh hi, how are you, what have you been up to?” I make nice to him. I mean, it’s been two years, and two years is time for a lot of guys to pass between my sheets, but I’m not so much of a slut that I forget who they are. Like I said, he wasn’t the worst fuck in the world. And he knows the same people as me, so we’re all sticking together, and you don’t want to make it awkward. And he’s looking pretty cute too, in a preppy sort of way, with a tailored shirt that’s kind of clingy, and tight pants. Sort of metrosexual but less gay. The sad face is still there, and it’s got a harder edge, and before you know it I’m thinking back to being twenty-three and thinking it was kind of fun.

But there’s other hot guys there too, and I’m looking around and wondering who’s gonna give me some action. There’s a couple guys who talk nice, but then I’m all busy during the seminars and actually trying to learn shit. By the time we kick back for the evening, it’s just our group and we’re having beers and Dominic is acting cool and not all goddam clingy and I’m thinking, maybe again, maybe he’s got better. His body was leaner, tighter, and my memory is telling me it was better than I thought. I mean, what do I know? I was drunk as drunk gets when he… when I fucked him the first time. So I’m giving back to him and it’s late and one of the guys says “Are you two gonna fuck or what?”

And I look at him and I ask him the question. “Are you going to get heavy again?” I’m almost embarrassed to ask by this point. Cos he’s a cool guy now, not that naive boy he used to be.

So he shrugs, and his sad face looks set, like he’s got some intent behind the gloom, and he says, “I’m past that.” And then he leans closer until he’s right in my ear, like his nose is brushing the tiny hairs on my ear, almost tickling me, and he says, “I wanna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

Then in a moment I’m wet and horny, and giggling at him, and he’s laughing with me, and we’re leaving and my ladies at the table are whooping like we’re on Oprah or something. I’m not as drunk as last time but I’m pretty happy, and we go to his room, not mine. They’re all crappy rooms anyway, what does it matter which one we go to, right?

And on the way he kisses me and I’m suddenly back to that night two years before, back to my birthday and he’s kissing me but he’s better, stronger, harder. He’s making me wet and I’m wondering why I gave him the brush off, and it’s just making me wetter to think of the times that might have happened. I mean, I never had a fuck buddy, you know, and he would have been perfect if he’d just been less goddam stupid the first time.

We get to his room and he closes the door and he takes my top off. I’m grinning and standing in front of him, wanting him to show me the way it’s gonna be, so I don’t have to, so he can prove that it’s different this time. First it’s my top, and then it’s my jeans, down to my shoes, and he tells me to take them off, so I’m standing there in bra and panties and he’s looking at me like I’m the hottest piece of ass he’s ever seen.

“Turn around,” he tells me, so I turn and he runs his hand along my shoulders, down to the small of my back, and I stand on tiptoes because it’s a turn on and I want him to see my ass properly. And he undoes my bra and takes it off and then he runs his hands underneath the elastic of my panties and pulls them down slow, real slow, until they’re at my knees and stretched across my calves. He’s making me hot, like really hot here, and I’m really liking the new Dominic, and even more when he runs his hand over my ass and then underneath and he’s playing with my pussy.

This time he finds the spot, no problemo; it’s like there’s a flashing light in my cunt and his hand has got the route map. So he’s fingering me and I’m still standing there, and I start shaking and he’s still behind me, his hand underneath, coming up from above, and he’s got his other hand around my shoulder and he’s playing with my nipple and I’m so hot, and so is he, because I can feel his cock through his pants, and he’s rock fucking hard, and it just makes me wetter and hornier and then I’m coming, and he holds me up as I nearly fall, my legs can’t support me and I’m just gushing as his finger keeps going.

Damn. It’s making me horny just writing it down. I suppose that’s not going to help is it?

So yeah, then I want him to fuck me. Like, I really want him to fuck me, more than anything in the world right then, and I’m telling him, “Just fuck me, now, fucking come on and fuck me, I can’t take this.”

He lifts me onto the bed, belly down and he pulls my panties off my legs and the feel of the blankets under me is just fucking amazing. I remember that so well, the way they were kind of soft but with a rough edge, just how I wanted him to be right then. I look up at him and he’s tearing off his belt and he unzips his fly and kicks his pants off. Then he undoes his shirt, button by button, showing off now, like he’s playful and he knows I like it. And all the time I’m thinking, how the fuck is this the same guy? Who has he been fucking since two years ago?

And he gets on the bed and he eases his hard cock into me and it’s like a fucking cattle prod or something, I don’t know, because I just kind of light up, and it’s just one goddam gorgeous fuck. The sort of fuck you dream about, with one hand underneath, flicking away, and the other hand doing God knows what, but actually it was his hand, underneath doing the flicking and his other hand was… but who cares because it’s like the only thing you can feel is his cock, coming and going and you’re coming and going and holding on and wanting him to come just to make the world stand still again, but wanting him to carry on because the ride is so fucking good.

Then he grabs one of my wrists and holds it so I’m like a bucking bronco or something, and he’s riding me into the ground, and then he grabs the other so I’m flat on the bed. The fucking is intense and I’m coming again. Then I feel him doing something to my wrists and there’s something going round them but I’m coming again and then my wrists are tied tight and I can’t move them.

Now, I said I’ve had a lot of guys and yeah, you know, I’ve experimented. I’ve experimented a lot, just to find out what it’s like. So it’s not new, you know. I mean, I’ve had a guy put fluffy handcuffs on me and screw me til Thursday, and I’ve splayed out this one guy, a professor, and spanked him with my pumps. Then there was the time Candace really fancied this guy, and I helped out. Yeah. God this is just making me horny again.

Anyway, so he’s tied my wrists and this time, it’s different. It was more dangerous. He didn’t ask, didn’t say, just carried on fucking me, pinning me to the bed and riding and it was fucking awesome sex and I didn’t want it to stop. Fuck. I still don’t. And that’s the truth. No matter what you might think. If that makes me a slut, well, screw you too.

I can still remember the way he did it, the way he fucked me. It was like it was a frenzy. I could come all cute now and say I could remember the feeling of his cock from the first time, that it’s like faces or something; you never forget a cock. That’s just bullshit porn, like that screwball erotica Candace reads. So I don’t remember, you know, the shape of it, but it was nothing like the first time. He didn’t care if he hurt me or not, it’s not like he was but he didn’t give a shit. He was rough and I was ready. And he came, oh yes, he came, roaring and snorting and burying his thick, hard, come-filled cock in my cunt, all the way, twitching it out til he groaned like he’d been bitten.

He stays there, his back arched, and I’m looking round at him to see what he’s going to do next. He sniffs and climbs off and I’m exhausted. My cheek’s on the pillow and he bends down to look at me. I open my mouth but it’s just a gurgle, and he smiles this sad smile.

That’s when my stomach tightens to a knot, and I suddenly realise I’m tied up and can’t do a thing. Because there was something in the smile that scared me, and I realised before he spoke what he was going to say.

“Was it funny that time, for you?”

Goddamn, if he’d just had a point to prove, he proved it well, and I need to make my men prove more points. But it wasn’t just that. I shake my head at him, scared to shit, and he lifts me up by my hair.

“Was it funny that time, bitch?”

And now I’m really fucking scared, really really fucking scared and he knows it, because that face isn’t sad any more. It’s smiling a twisted grin with cruel eyes that I’ll do anything to stop. I shake my head again. He’s got a clump of my hair in his hand; my legs are curled under me but with my hands behind my back I’ve got no support and my roots are all that’s holding me up.

“I think you owe me an apology.”

I nod. “I’m sorry, I was a bitch, I–”

He let go of my head. No, he threw my head so I fell back on the bed. My hair was over my face but I couldn’t do anything about it.

“Not good enough. Not fucking good enough.” He knelt down next to the bed, and rummaged underneath it. “You need to make it up to me.”

The thing that went through my head was like, did that amazing fuck not balance the books? But he was carrying round two years of resentment, two years of wounded pride. Twenty minutes of sex didn’t stack up against it. And he scared me.

“Anything.”

He flicks his eyes up at me. “Anything? Good.” He pulls out a video camera and takes off the cap. “What sort of an actress are you?”

Maybe I should have figured it out before, that he was out for revenge, but it just didn’t click. I’d forgotten what had happened. Anyway he tells me what we’re going to do, how he’s going to film me while I blow him and at the end he’s going to fuck me again and then come over my face. And I nod, because my wrists are beginning to ache, and what choice do I really have? What’s he going to do if I say no? Those eyes had no sadness anymore, just spite.

It wasn’t that hard to do. I mean, blowing a guy with my hands behind my back? Easy as pie. He certainly got off on it, on my vulnerability. He fucked my mouth a few times, holding my head so I couldn’t move, with his come already dripping down my thighs. He was a bastard, but he was a fucking sexy one. I got wet again when he fucked me, the same way as before, and I got lost in the moment the second time. It wasn’t as good as the first, but he knew what to do to bring me back up. And at the end, he flips me onto my back and jerks himself off onto me, trying to hold onto the camera while it shakes in his hand as his hot come sprinkles on my face and my tits.

When he finally turns the camera off, he still doesn’t untie me. He ignores me, ignores me when I ask him to untie me and just looks back at the footage to make sure it’s on tape. Then he pulls out his netbook and starts writing on a pad of paper. When he’s ready, he pulls me up so I’m sitting on the bed and pulls my hands round my waist to the side, and sticks a pen in my hand.

“Sign this,” he says.

“What?”

“Just sign it and I’ll untie you.”

So he didn’t give me a choice, right. He didn’t tell me what it was about, and it was under duress, right? How can he just fucking get away with that? The porn channel guys are ignoring my emails now. They’re saying I consented to being filmed. But it’s just bullshit, right? That’s why I’m telling you this, after all. You think I like telling my darkest sexual secrets? To a lawyer? Even a cute one?