Feet on the Ceiling

With many thanks to

LarryInSeattle

for his editorial prowess.

* *** *

When I returned to town after being stuck for two miserable weeks at my parents' house, the first thing I did was try to find a way to contact Krysten. A call to my buddy Kevin revealed that she was splitting an apartment with Ryan, a buddy of ours from high school. He gave me her number and I gave her a call.

She seemed genuinely happy to hear me and I got the warm tingles—and maybe a bit of an erection too. She invited me over and, since my summer job didn't start for a week, I was there in no time.

To say that the tiny, 2-bedroom apartment was a cinderblock shitbox in a sketchy part of town would be giving it too much credit. It was tiny. It was ancient. Its single virtue was its low price in relation to its proximity to campus—if you didn't count the fact that Krysten was there.

We smiled at each other as she welcomed me in. There was a brief, "good to see you" hug and a grand tour, which consisted of Krysten waving her arm at the sofa, the kitchenette, the two closed bedroom doors, and a bathroom that made the kitchenette look positively spacious in comparison. We talked about what she'd been doing and how she'd wound up here. She wasn't going back to her previous college when the fall semester began. She had gotten a job at a burger joint and was planning to work for a while, to see if she could support herself for a while. Maybe she'd attend classes at the nearby campus in the spring or the following fall.

As we spoke there was lots of eye contact and smiling. She laughed easily at my stupid jokes and we almost immediately found we shared common interests in books and movies. The surroundings may have been run-down, poverty-level digs for the off-campus college crowd, but is there ever a better place to be than with an attractive woman who's smiling, seems enjoy being with you, and seems genuinely interested in every foolish word coming out of your mouth?

Sure, in the back of my mind I was thinking of the two wild nights we'd passed in my dorm room. She had to be thinking about them too. I looked at her on the sofa. Her polo shirt showed the outline of her substantial breasts and a fashionable hole in her jeans revealed a tantalizing glimpse of the oh-so-soft flesh of her thigh. I'm shit at reading body language or non-verbal cues, but I thought she was sending out the right signals. I was so young! I could probably have taken her right into the bedroom when I had walked into the apartment.

When she got up to get something I took a chance and pulled her down to sit on the arm of the stuffed chair I sat in. Her reaction was somewhere between surprise and "it's about time." I rested my hand on her thigh. As we chit-chatted I began to lightly trace my finger along the flesh of her thigh, exposed by the hole in her blue jeans. At a break in the conversation, we both leaned in for a kiss.

Her bed was a cheap king-size mattress and box spring sitting directly on the dingy linoleum floor. It wasn't made. There were dirty clothes on the floor. I didn't care. I was too busy easing myself down beside her. I kissed her hard, one hand behind her head and the other pawing her plump ass.

At some point during our prolonged kissing, I reached under her shirt and felt her bra-covered breasts. She seemed to take it as a hint and removed her shirt and her bra. Oh! Those nipples! Her fat breasts were capped with the nipples that had preoccupied me for the past two weeks. I had to get my hands and mouth on them again and she had no objection. In a ranked order of the components of her physical appearance, her nipples ranked second only to her over-large blue eyes. Yes, they edged out her smile, but only by a little.

When I began to firmly rub the crotch of her jeans, she asked me to take them off of her. It was a bit of a trick to get them over her wide hips and the large, rounded mounds of her soft ass, but we managed it together. As a bonus, her panties came off at the same time.

I shucked off my shorts and pulled off my shirt before lying atop her. We reveled in the full-body contact of our naked skin as we kissed and caressed and squeezed one another. I maneuvered between her legs and, using my hard cock like a blind man uses his cane, probed until I found her entrance. She was hot and liquid, aroused and ready to begin.

And so we did.

Half an hour later, after we'd done missionary, shifted into our first doggie-style together, then returned to the missionary position, I climaxed and rolled off of her. She had seemed to enjoy it with me, moaning and sweating, but I had no idea if she'd climaxed. As silly as it sounds to me today, curious as I was about whether or not I'd pleased her, I didn't ask her because it seemed like too personal a question and I barely knew her.

After sex we talked. And we kept right on talking.

Strangely enough the more we talked, the more I liked her. That hadn't been my past experience with women. My previous sex life, mostly drunken one-night stands (with the occasional repeat performance) hadn't been about liking women; it had been about fucking them. I wasn't used to it. Our conversation was silly and flirtatious with occasional attempts at profundity. She was intelligent and I loved it. Over the course of our relationship, her brain did far more to attract me to her than her nipples—which is saying something indeed.

Through the afternoon and into the evening we fucked several more times. Conversation was foreplay, and then it was afterplay, before turning into foreplay again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I ran into my buddy Ryan, Krysten's roommate, as I was leaving that night. We greeted each other as I descended the concrete stairs that ran down the side of the building and he came up. I told him I'd been visiting Krysten. He looked me over as we passed on the stairs and we both knew that I looked like a guy that had just spent the day fucking.

"Oh?" he asked sardonically, one eyebrow raised. "And will we be visiting again?"

"If I have anything to say about it," I told him, looking squarely into his eye, "it's an absolute certainty."