When you're a boy named Kourtney, growing up necessitates you go by a nickname merely to survive. For the first fourteen years of his life, this went well. He got by with everyone calling him by the initials of his first and middle name. When sex education began, and all his peers became hyper aware of all things sex, suddenly that went from his name to an insult. Once the context was provided, he understood why so many adults held back a snicker when he said his name was KY for Kourtney York.
Just to add a slap in the face on top of the mockery that characterized eighth grade, his full name was Kourtney York Jolley. He's called himself York ever since.
York's later life was kinder, and the joke got old by sophomore year. He still went by York though. Graduating High School as Valedictorian he felt was his ultimate redemption.
York had been physically active for most of his life and fitness is how he put himself through college. His college ride was split evenly between academic and athletic scholarships in track and wrestling. In four years he had double majored in nutrition and premed with a focus in sports medicine. He was well on his way to becoming a doctor.
Graduate school was mostly supported by his hours as a physical trainer and part time as a cross fit instructor. York started cross fit as an undergraduate and it's during which he met Heather.
Heather Calhoun, architecture student, a year younger but in the same year as him. A tight strawberry blond, short at five three with the faint outlines of abdominal muscles. Her hair typically kept at mid back length, pulled into a pony tail with one or two bangs dangling in front of her face. The girl who came to the gym in full makeup and feints annoyance that people are checking her out.
Heather saw York first. As she was completing her eleventh lap around the college's quarter mile track, she saw him shirtless completing a set of pullups, then immediately dismounting the bar to complete a round of heavy tire flips.
York had looked like he was chiseled from marble since he was sixteen. Unlike her muscles, his were carved down to minute detail from scientifically going through phases of bulking and cutting. York was the David of college guys, the kind of guy you stare at as you pass, until you clothesline yourself on the slide of a trombone from a member of the marching band moving across the track.
A small crowd formed around Heather who assured them she was fine, which she was. She was more embarrassed than anything. After one last promise she was unharmed, she turned back, and York was at the edge of the grass before the track to check on her himself.
"You good?" York asked, and Heather was silent for a second, before finally nodding.
"I do that all the time," Heather said with a forced, awkward laugh.
York looked different at the distance of five feet. Neatly trimmed brown hair that went from one side burn to the other, across the chin, to the mustache, and under the chin to complete a well-groomed beard. Ocean green eyes with a symmetrical facial structure and squared chin that was very appealing to an architecture major.
Heather looked different at this distance as well. Lightly freckled cheeks flanking a wide nose. Wide brown eyes with long lashes, a blink having the same effect as a woman calling you over by pointing a finger at you and curling it toward herself.
They had a few dates that felt forced and difficult, nearly derailing the relationship from the start. Two college kids who both count calories and pre plan meals trying to go to a pizza parlor for a date just doesn't work. It's both people staring at their meal and talking over it, wondering when it'll be over so they could get home and grill the chicken and steam their squash and broccoli.
After the second failed date at an ice cream parlor, both wondering when they can go home and eat their plain yogurt with diced fruit or berries, York offered a third option.
"I can't help but notice, we can't do normal dates," York said to her over her shoulder, running to catch up as they were passing each other in the quad on their way to separate lectures.
"You think?" Heather asked. 'Stop being sarcastic!' she yelled to herself a moment later.
"Let me cook. I imagine we have similar diets," York offered, and Heather thought for moment before agreeing.
That night he cooked hummus chicken breast baked on top of a bed of zucchini squash and red peppers. This was served with garlic couscous and a sweet wine.
"I've been living off the cafeteria salad and soup, if you want to call that food for too long. I forgot what food tasted like. Thank you, this was amazing," Heather said, finishing a glass of wine, York offering her a second glass which she declined.
"You are very welcome," York said, and poured himself a half glass and corked the bottle.
"What kind of wine was that?" Heather asked.
"A Riesling from Germany you can find at any liquor store for about twenty-five bucks," York said, which made Heather laugh.
"Look at you, big roller," Heather said, letting her sarcasm slide this time.
York offered to walk her back, but she said she'd be just fine. They kissed at the door to his apartment, and that developed into not needing to walk her home at all. The door shut with her inside, pushing him backward toward his room as he tried not to fall over objects or crash into walls. York cracked his elbow on the door frame to his room, but that was a minor discomfort.
Heather pushed him onto his bed and pulled her top off of her body, then discarded her bra on top of it. She hooked her thumbs on the sides of York's shirt and pulled upward, licking and kissing his stomach muscles as she climbed. The shirt was pulled all of the way off and she did the same on the way down, her hands arriving first to undo his zipper and pull his pants and briefs down enough to grip his already hard cock in her hand and drop her mouth on top of it.
York wanted to reach down and play with her, but the only thing in reach was her head so he kept her hair out of the way. For minutes he watched her suck his dick, the sensation of a lick or a pull occurring micro seconds before he saw it, making him flinch and gasp in shock like he was watching it happen to someone else. If she kept this up, he'd orgasm before he got to truly enjoy her to the fullest.
Not wanting to miss that, York pulled her up to him and twisted her as she fell so she'd land on her back. He kissed his way down her body, taking a few extra seconds to flick her nipples with his tongue to firm them. After he unfastened her belt and pants, he pulled them off with only a few tugs and went to the task of returning the favor.
Heather squeaked when he applied pressure to her clitoris, which York found adorable so pressed it like it was a piano key. York slid his tongue into her pussy to moisten it, then fingered her with his middle and ring ringer while he licked her clitoris. Heather was very sensitive and orgasmed quickly. York was able to provide her with three orgasms in the time she had spent trying to make him cum and failing.
After inquiring about protection that York rolled onto his penis, he entered her from missionary position, holding her legs up at the ankle and sinking his pelvis down into her. He was slow and firm in his thrusts, only increasing speed when asked to, a request she made. Within five minutes her legs were over his shoulders and he was ramming her so hard the sound of his balls swinging sounded like applause.
