Just after I turned 18, the summer before I started college, we went on a family vacation to New York City. I was thrilled to see the Big Apple; I was less than pleased to be going there with my parents.
I was overweight at the time. I don't want you to get the idea that I was fat, because I wasn't; but I definitely wasn't skinny either. At the time, I also had definite ideas about what an attractive girl was supposed to look like, and I wasn't it. My boobs were too small, my hips too wide, my lashes weren't long enough and didn't naturally curl; and my lips didn't pout right. In short, I thought I was ugly.
I had died my hair bright red and painted my nails purple. I wore a lot of black, and blue doc martins. I thought I was oh so punk.
The three of us, Mom, Dad, and me, shared a room at the Milford Hotel, on 43rd street. In the first excitement of arriving in the city, I forgot to be mortified to be seen in public with my parents. The noise, bustle, and excitement of Manhattan overwhelmed me. We had dinner together at some nice restaurant, then saw Cats on Broadway. I thought it was the best thing I had ever seen. By the time the show was over, all three of us were drop-dead tired; it had been a very long day. Mom and Dad slept in their bed, I slept soundly in mine.
When I woke up, it was still very early. I had the strange sensation of waking up not knowing just where I was at first. The room looked alien, unfamiliar. Traffic noise was already filtering up from the streets far below. Through the window, I had an excellent view of a brick wall. From somewhere far above, sunlight was starting to light up the city. I looked at the clock radio on the nightstand. 6:25; way too early to be awake. And yet, awake I was, inescapably awake, and ready to start exploring the great city.
I heard a rhythmic creaking sound, and realized that it was coming from my parents' bed, not five feet away from me. I looked over, and realized that Mom and Dad weren't asleep as I had assumed. Mom was lying with her back to me, her hand busy under the covers. Dad was lying flat on his back. They were kissing. I realized that Mom was giving Dad a hand job. GROSS!! I rolled over quickly and shut my eyes tight. I couldn't bear to think about it. And yet, I couldn't escape the rhythmic squeaking of the springs, or their quickened breath as their excitement grew. Finally, the squeaking stopped, and I heard Dad softly sigh, and I knew that he must have come. How disgusting! I pretended to be asleep as they got up and showered.
Mom and Dad wanted to go to all the museums that day. I absolutely refused to go with them. They didn't like the idea, but I sulked and argued. In the end, they agreed. I was 18, and old enough to look after myself. "Just be careful, and meet us back here at eight." And then they were gone.
I lay there on the bed for a minute, just savoring the sensation: I was free and on my own in the greatest city in the world. It was marvelously exciting and terrifying. I didn't know what to do first.
I got dressed: black skirt, blue doc martins, a white button down shirt, and a black lace choker around my neck; and I plunged into the city. I descended into the subway, bought some tokens, and took the train downtown.
I had a great time walking around the village, just looking at the shops and people. I felt like this was where I was born to be. I belonged here; here in the center of it all. I could live here. I certainly didn't belong in Ohio.
Summoning all my courage, I went into a bar, trying to look confident and experienced. It was almost noon. The place was dark and cool inside, and almost empty. I walked up to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour. The bartender, a battered looking man of indeterminate age, served me without comment.
I sat there for a while, sipping my drink and congratulating myself on how cool I was. Suddenly, I realized that I was no longer alone. A guy had sat down at the bar right next to me.
He was older. I was no good at guessing ages; but he was older than me. He was tall and lean, and wore a black motorcycle jacket. His eyes were light blue and mischievous. He was drinking beer out of a bottle. The brown glass bottle in his hand sweated clear drops of moisture. My heart raced. I wanted to introduce myself, but I didn't know what to say.
"Are you from out of town?" His voice was rough, a little gravelly, like one who has been up all night, smoking too many cigarettes.
"Yes", I answered, nodding, "I'm just here for the weekend."
"Where you from?"
"Ohio."
"Like it here?"
"Oh yes." I nodded for emphasis, "Very much."
There was a long silence. He took a deep drag from his cigarette. I felt tongue tied, and terribly young and awkward.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"Sure." I said. My head felt light and a little spinny.
He nodded to the bartender, who brought me a new whiskey sour and a fresh beer for my companion. He raised the bottle in a half mocking toast to me. We drank in silence for a few minutes.
I felt his hand on my thigh, on the bare flesh above my knee. I tried to stifle the panic that was building in my gut. I gritted my teeth and sipped my drink, and didn't get up and walk away in a huff.
My heart was beating so hard, I was sure he could hear it. I realized that I was physically excited. His hand felt cool and strong on my thigh. Later, I would masturbate to this tall, silent stranger. I spread my legs a little, allowing him access to my upper thigh. I felt wild and brave and out of control.
We talked for a while, about music and art and books and New York City. He made me feel incredibly naive and inexperienced. All the while, as we chatted, his hand was softly stroking my thigh. It was driving me crazy.
"Listen" he said suddenly, as if the idea had just occurred to him "would you like to come over to my apartment?"
I realized that I was a little drunk. I knew that it wasn't a good idea. In fact, I knew that it qualified as a Really Bad Idea.
"Sure" I said "I'd love to."
We left the bar together, leaving our drinks unfinished. I guess he must have paid the bill. He negotiated us through the crowded streets and down into the subways. After a short, loud and confusing ride, we climbed a smelly stairwell back into daylight. He told me that we were in Brooklyn.
His apartment was five flights up. I was glad that it wasn't far from the subway. I was horny, too horny to be scared, too turned on to be nervous, and if he didn't touch me soon, I thought I might melt.
I wasn't totally inexperienced by then. I had gotten good at giving blowjobs, and, after an iffy start, I had realized that sucking dick was really fun. I had been masturbating since I was twelve. I had fooled around at camp, and in the front seat of my parents' old car. But I had never had a real boyfriend, and I had never gone "all the way".
He unlocked three or four locks, and we were inside his apartment. Suddenly we were kissing, his mouth pressed against mine, his tongue invading my mouth, his hand squeezing my sensitive breasts. I had only the briefest impression of his place; small, messy, spare furniture, weird art on the walls. Then we were in his bedroom.
I briefly sobered up enough to realize how deep the shit was that I was in. He might kill me now, and nobody would ever find my body. I held my breath, hoping that I had not made a fatal mistake.
He lay on top of me, and we kissed for what seemed like a long time. I liked kissing him. I liked the way his stubble scratched my cheeks. I liked the lump in his pants, pressing urgently against my crotch.
His hands were under my shirt, massaging my breasts through my bra. I liked that; I liked it a lot. Pushing him away for a moment, I unbuttoned my shirt and unsnapped my bra.
"Are they alright?" I asked. My tits didn't look like much, I thought, not compared to the one's I had seen in magazines, or even some of the other girls in the locker room.
In answer, he lowered his mouth to my left tit, sending sparks of electricity, straight to my jumping clit. I reached for him, squeezing his erect cock through his black jeans. I couldn't wait to suck him, to have that nice stiff cock in my hungry mouth.
I felt his hand under my skirt, rubbing me through my underwear. I was glad that I had worn my black string bikini panties. I knew I was wet, really wet, and my panties must be soaking. His hand felt incredibly good. He was strong and confident, not hesitant like the boys I had fooled around with before.
I had a little trouble with his zipper, but I quickly had his cock out in all its glory. It was big, the biggest one I had seen yet (though not, I learned later, exceptionally large). It was really wide around; my thumb and forefinger wrapped around it didn't quite touch. The head was hot and purple, and a drop of clear liquid leaked out of his hole. It looked delicious.
I really liked having him in my mouth. I couldn't get it all inside, but that was ok. I licked and kissed his shaft all over, and sucked on the part I could while I stroked the shaft with one fist, and fondled his balls with my other hand. I could tell he was enjoying it. I was looking forward to his balls tightening up and shooting gob after gob of hot semen into my mouth.
It didn't seem like I had been sucking him long, when he gently lifted me off his cock.
"Baby" he said "Are you ready?"
I nodded. I knew what was going to happen, and I felt like I was outside my body, watching this happen. I knew I was a virgin, but he didn't. I watched, enthralled, as tore open a condom, and rolled it onto his straining manhood.
He tore my panties off, in one quick act of violence. I cowered in front of him, feeling more naked than I ever had before. He guided the latex-sheathed head of his penis to my opening. Mentally, I cringed, even as I spread my legs wide for him sighing something grown-up sounding like "Yeah, come on and fuck me now lover."
He entered me, and I thought my pussy was being torn in half. I thought he must be splitting me open, breaking me. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream.
I looked down past his sweaty smooth chest, at the dark bush of hair between my legs, and saw his own pubes pressed close against mine. I realized that he must be all the way inside me. I no longer felt like I was being torn up, but I felt stretched to the limit, like a small pair of nylons pulled onto a fat lady's legs.
"God damn you're tight." He grunted as he began to thrust. My clit felt distended, jolting me with pleasure through the fog of pain every time he moved. I didn't know what to do, what to feel, as he pumped away at my poor pussy.
I knew he was going to come soon. He was breathing in fast, raspy gasps, and fucking me hard and urgently. I was still excited, desperately excited, but the pain had won out over the pleasure, and all I could do was close my eyes and wait for it to be over.
"Fuck, fuck oh yes fuck" He came inside me, collapsing on my body, filling the condom with his sperm. I lay under him, silently crying to myself in relief and frustration. He smelled of beer and cigarettes. His wilting dick slipped out of me. He got up and threw the condom away, then went to the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush.
