Our Story

****Note**** There's not going to be any sex here, just a little backstory. The rest of the chapters will be all about the sex.

*****

I've known you for years. We went to high school together, though you didn't know I existed at the time. Two years your junior, we traveled in barely overlapping social circles. You were popular, with a different girl on your arm even then. I was not. Studious and quiet to your outgoing, the only time our circles overlapped was athletics. I ran track and played soccer, you played football and wrestled. We watched each other's games from the sidelines, never speaking.

Until college and the invention of social media.

Somehow we connected. A mutual friend perhaps, or the fact that our profiles showed the same school. We were hours apart by then but it all started with an innocent message from you that turned into the million, random, get-to-know-you questions. Little by little our texts got a little more personal and a lot more sexual.

I knew your reputation, knew you were partying it up, fucking a new girl any chance you got. And still you messaged me, paid me some attention, got my number. Our conversations were never deep, but enough to get us comfortable. It didn't take long until you were asking for pictures.

I'd never done anything like that. Sure, I'd sexted, was fairly good at telling boys what they wanted to hear, getting them all revved up and then inviting them over to help finish what I started. I wasn't a prude by any means when I met you, but I was still inexperienced compared to you.

You were different from the others. Much more intense from the beginning, coaxing me into sending those first barely scandalous pictures, always asking for more. I was under no illusions, knew you were getting multiple pictures from multiple sources from much prettier and much more experienced women.

And still, you wanted more from me.

More pictures, more dirty messages. You sent me just as many as I sent you, and you were impressive. Blonde hair, blue eyes, strong features with a ready smile. A thick, muscled body, broad shouldered a big from the sports you were playing on scholarship... and a cock you promised was as thick and long as my forearm. Terrifyingly, mouth-wateringly big. The first picture and dirty fantasy you sent, I used every night for a week to help me relax before bed. I was surprised by your prose but then again, a fuckboy such as yourself would have plenty of practice. You had dirty talk down to an art form. I would see a new message from you on my phone and instantly get wet.

And then you called me.

You didn't ask, just called one night as I was getting ready for bed, ready for another night of reading and responding to your fantasies, getting myself off with fingers and toys, poor substitutes for what you were packing.

Your voice was just as sexy as the rest of you, low and rumbling your dirtiest fantasies in my ear. My embarrassment faded in mere minutes, replaced by a red hot desire and a hunger to feel your hot breath in my ear, panting in time with your powerful thrusts. I blushed when I panted and moaned your name, coming for the first time over the phone, gushing my arousal into a puddle on my sheets. You got me off two more times that night, until I told you I couldn't take any more.

Soon I wasn't sated by this, not anymore.

Every text, every picture, every phone call only made me want the real thing. I think that was your plan all along. Even though you called regularly to repeat that nightly performance, you ended the call with an invitation to come see you, experience the real thing. I would smile and laugh, saying maybe one day.

I wasn't a virgin, but I was a lot smaller than you, with only a couple lovers previous, none of them anywhere near your length or girth. I knew you had different girls, more experienced girls, a roster of girls ready and willing to fill your bed. I had no claim on you, knew I couldn't, most likely wouldn't hold your attention. At 5'2" I was barely a hundred pounds, with a runner's body, arms, legs, and torso toned from soccer, track, and training horses. I had small, firm breasts, no cleavage, and no hips to speak of. I didn't look 19. My dirty blonde hair was always in a pony tail and my skin make up free and perpetually tanned and pink from the hours spent in the sun. My idea of dressing up was putting on my nice, stain and hole-free jeans and a tight t shirt that showed off the small curves I had. I didn't know anything about make up, never got my nails done. But you did something to my body, made me feel desired like no one else had. I probably didn't have a shot compared to those other perfectly coiffed girls.

And yet... I wanted to try.

It took weeks of calls, filthy texts that nearly melted my cell phone screen with their heated fantasies, and one well-intentioned video I surprised you with before the unfulfilled desire to meet you and experience everything you had to offer wore me down.

I had just dropped out of college in the middle of my sophomore year; the money had run out. You, on the other hand were in your last year, getting ready to graduate. I was a lot closer to you now that I'd moved back to our hometown. I wanted to forget about the dreams of a degree in a field I loved, dreams I had to put on hold thanks to funds that ran out. You were the perfect distraction.

I almost cancelled as soon as I sent the acceptance text, but you called me that night, set up a weekend. An entire weekend with you. I still remember my disbelief and worries. Could I handle an entire weekend? Could I even fit you inside of me? Could I satisfy you? You had so many lovers, so much experience. How could I compare? We had hundreds of texts and shared fantasies between us, but I knew better than anyone that fantasies were just that. Nothing ever went wrong in a fantasy; everyone always had multiple orgasms and fit together perfectly. The real thing was much trickier, and at least for me, a lot less satisfying.

I almost backed out, had the perfect excuse for why I couldn't make it: an emergency at work, someone called off and I had to go in. I was the only one available. But something stopped me. A desire to see this through. To see if you were anything like you promised. You, in an attempt to turn me on and relax me, told me in great detail the night before exactly what you'd do to me, what to expect our first time together. I came so hard that I deleted my excuses and set my alarm before drifting off into fevered dreams that had me waking up horny and excited.

I thought it was all big talk. I thought you said these lines to multiple girls, convinced myself you couldn't be anywhere near as good -or big- as you claimed. This was my mantra the entire drive there. Don't get your hopes up. If you come once, it was worth the drive. Hell, if I fit him all the way inside at least one of my holes, especially if he turned out to be as big in real life as he claimed, I would be proud of that.

I kept my mantra simple: don't get your hopes up. Don't expect anything past this weekend. He's a fuckboy looking to finally scratch an itch that was over a year in the making. I could do the same. Ease my curiosity, scratch the itch, and even if he never called again, I had our dirtiest fantasies saved I could always pull out later to ease the ache. I didn't like the thought, wasn't a fan of short flings, but I was willing to bend those rules for you. I hoped you didn't wreck me for the men that would come after you.

When I pulled up to your apartment and got out of the car after the long journey, my bag slung over my shoulder and hesitating before knocking on your door, I had no idea how wrong I was.