Inspired by a true story...
My ex and I were together nearly three years. The first two were as romantic as it gets, but as we entered the third, we both could see we were moving in different directions. She left me with many warm feelings, happy memories ... and one of my favorite erotic stories. It's not the most extreme I've ever heard, but since I know it really happened -- and enabled me to see my angel-faced lover in a fresh (and sexy) light -- it turns me on like no other.
We had good sex all along, even though she always seemed kind of reserved about it. In the getting-to-know-you stage of our relationship, she told me she'd dated a bunch of guys but only had intercourse with two. Both were long term relationships -- a year for the first guy, two for the second. I took the hint that she saw LTRs as the proper setting for sex, so I shouldn't expect to get laid if I wasn't staying around for a while. That wasn't the problem, since I really liked her. We took our time getting physical but soon developed a mutually satisfying sex life.
I'd discovered with previous lovers that, unlike guys who didn't want to hear about their sexual pasts, I enjoyed it when they'd tell me about erotic adventures from before we met. (I found out recently that this is a legit kink, called hotpast; at the time I only knew it led to memorable sex and powerful orgasms for me and my partners.) Some of them were more comfortable with it than others, but when I tried to draw her out on the topic, she dismissed it quickly by saying both guys she'd slept with (which is what she called it, not "fucked") were vanilla in bed. She told me I was a better lover than either of them. Obviously she believed I was asking because I wanted reassurance. I could tell she didn't want me to push it further, so I thought if I couldn't get stories, maybe I could hear a few details. I complimented her blowjob skills and asked about how she'd learned them. Her response was to give me one. Not a bad outcome, but lacking in context. I commented on how much she loved getting eaten out. "Who doesn't?" she said with a shrug.
Later on, as it became obvious that our breakup was inevitable, the sex got less frequent, and our little arguments got bigger and happened more often. A month before we parted, we took an evening for ourselves to try to reconnect. I shopped and cooked us a nice dinner, and we a bottle of good wine. I'm not a connoisseur of cannabis, but her sister would occasionally give her some weed we really enjoyed. It took the edge off anything we worried about, leaving us simultaneously mellow and horny. In fact, the first time we tried it wound up being our initial experience of anal, and to our stoned surprise, we both loved it. The next day, I heard her thanking her sister on the phone and was taken off guard by the level of detail she went into. Then she laughed and hung up. I asked what her sister had said. She made face and imitated her: "Ewww, dude. Can't ya just say, 'Good shit. Thank you'?" We both cracked up.
The night she told me the story I'm about to share, we'd smoked a little before dinner because munchies and had another bowl after because... well, you can figure that out. We snuggled on the sofa, barefoot but otherwise clothed, hugging and running our hands over each other. I unbuttoned the top of the fly of her jeans. She returned the favor. We kept going, alternating until both our flies were wide open. It was definitely getting hot in there. She grabbed hard cock through my underwear. Then she looked up at me and asked a question: "Did I ever tell you about time I slept with two guys the same day?"
Now, pausing for conversation at such a moment wasn't something I'd normally do, but she had my attention. "No," I said, as casually as I could manage. "I think I'd remember that." I couldn't believe she seemed about to tell me the kind of story I'd been begging for, and I didn't want to blow it in my excitement (or blow my load in my underwear, for that matter).
She got quiet for a second -- long enough to make me worry she'd changed her mind (which would've been SUCH a bummer). Then she told it. In great detail. Clearly this was a treasured memory. I later wrote down everything I remembered, so what follows is pretty damned accurate. You're welcome.
I already knew she'd finished her Master's degree with a semester abroad in Berlin. (She teaches languages at the high school level.) She hadn't told me much about that experience, only that it was a full immersion program (she was only to speak and read in German), and she considered it the most challenging thing she'd ever done. Succeeding gave her confidence that she could do anything she set her mind to. When I asked about the people she'd met, she said they were "pretty cool" and changed the subject.
Well, I didn't know the half of it. She'd broken up with her first long term boyfriend the semester before heading to Berlin. In the intervening months, she'd dipped a few beautifully pedicured toes into the dating scene. She didn't sleep with any of the guys but still found the process exhausting. The whole "does he like me?" "can I trust him?" "should we do that?" hassle took up too much space in her brain. She has issues with anxiety in the best of times, and the effort to figure out who she might want to be with drained her.
On the flight over, she did what she often does when she's feeling anxious: she made a list. In this case, her goals for the semester. It was simple. One, get an A. Two, do an extra credit project (she didn't need it but wanted to prove she could). And three. NO GUYS. She wrote in in caps for emphasis. She pledged to throw herself into her studies and shove the social and romantic stuff to the side.
The program started on a Monday. That Saturday, there was a welcome party for her cohort, hosted by one of the TAs (not hers, she said, I assume to emphasize that what happened next wasn't unethical). She told me the party was supposed to start at 6:00 or 7:00, I don't recall. Whatever it was, she did something that's very like her. Super-typical behavior. She showed up on the dot, time-wise. As a consequence, not only was she the first to arrive, the host hadn't even finished cleaning up or begun putting out snacks and drinks. She apologized. He said why should she, since she'd come at the time he'd said. He made a joke about how Germans are known for being precise and punctual, and here she was, the sloppy American being the only one on time. She offered to help him get ready and he gratefully agreed.
As she stepped inside, he apologized again, explaining that the floors in the old building were hard wood, beautifully shined. He'd sanded and polished them himself and insisted everybody take their shoes off. Some people got annoyed, but it was a rule. He preferred bare feet (and she'd noticed he was barefoot himself, though he wore designer jeans and a nice shirt) but in a pinch he'd allow socks. She's a barefoot girl from way back, hates shoes and always keeps her pedicure fresh. So she was happy to toss her sandals into a spot he indicated by the door and show off her pretty feet. The pile would grow though the evening as people arrived.
They chatted while they cleaned up and got along well. He said it was fortunate he wasn't her TA, because that way if she needed to hear a friendly voice or vent about something during the term, he could be there for her. By the time people arrived, she knew where everything was and became like a co-host when people were looking for, say, a bathroom or the booze. They both mingled widely but checked in with each other regularly.
As it got later, my ex was surprised to see that the pile of shoes had diminished, indicating people were leaving. She's never among the last at a party, but that night time had flown. She started to look for her own shoes so she could go, but he noticed what she was doing and asked if she'd hang out for a minute. When the last person left, he found her in the living room, perusing the books on his shelf (all in German, of course).
She said he looked at her a little awkwardly (his first moment of not appearing totally confident) and finally said he wanted to thank her for her help. She said sure (though she sensed he wanted to say something else). Another moment of awkwardness followed. He broke it by kissing her. Then she did something very unlike her: she kissed him back. Tongues and everything. Even though they'd just met. Soon clothes were dropping on the shiny, polished floors. When they were naked, he led her into the bedroom.
She paused telling the story and looked into my eyes. My own were begging her to continue. She leaned over to whisper in my ear. "He was anything but vanilla."
I let that sink in for a moment, then, in my most casual voice, asked, "How so?"
