This is my first submission. I welcome any and all constructive feedback.
*****
I'm writing to tell you the story of the most erotic night of my life.
I was barely 21 years old and a senior in college. It was September 1990 and we, Lisa and I, were drunk. Not the incoherent falling over kind of drunk, but the kind of drunk that leaves you happy and amorous. It's also the kind of drunk where things happen because inhibitions are down. It was time to take action on those obvious attractions everyone knows is there but no one talks about.
Our building sensual tension was like climbing a mountain. We were at the top of that mountain, and that night of drinking and dancing, the great social lubricant, pushed us past the tipping point.
Lisa and I met about two weeks before this through my roommate, Frank. In the small world category, Frank and Lisa happened to know each other through common friends. All of us lived in the same dorm, on the same floor. From our balcony, we could see the girls' suite three balconies over.
The day we met I was on the couch in our common room, reading. It was September and it was hot. I was in shorts and no shirt, trying to keep cool while reading the latest Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde assignment. I was probably in the best shape of my life up to that point, or since. 5'10" , 175 lbs, fit but not overly muscular. I was average in many ways, but blessed with a Mediterranean complexion highlighted wth a good early September tan, deep brown eyes and a thick head of dark hair.
In she walked with Frank and the room got brighter.
Lisa was beautiful in a way that was unique. She possessed features that, when combined together, moved me. She was 20, about 5'4" and slim with shapely legs, a cute butt and what looked to be B cup breasts. She had fair hair, blue eyes, freckles and a laugh that made me (a total stranger) smile. She was as Irish as the day is long but for the brogue.
I was drawn to her, not because of any one thing, but by the sum total of her beauty, personality, laugh and a subtle edge that was intriguing to me. She would smile a lot, and when she did her whole face would show it, particularly those eyes, which would brighten up when she laughed.
Our brief introduction was cordial, but as she was speaking to Frank, I was on the couch watching her subtly. She looked my way a lot, and she busted me looking at her often. Game on.
The two weeks between the time we met and this epic night was fraught with building sensual tension. The lingering looks, the innuendo, the casual brush of a hand or arm or leg during conversation. These touches were particularly electric, since, still summer, those touches were often skin on skin bared by shorts or short sleeves. The fuel for this fire was piled on day by day, we just needed to strike that match.
We, as a group of 10 or so, went to the bar just off campus about twice a semester. Being your typical poor college kids, we usually partied on campus as cheaply as possible. But tonight, for some reason, we chose to splurge. The bar was busy, we were close, and it was hot.
We were talking about nothing in particular, but because of the noise, every conversation was had like two conspirators in a great mystery. Mouth to ear, inhaling the scent of perfume and shampoo and a just a little perspiration. The hot breath on ears and necks created ripples of shivers.
There was dancing, and drinking, and dancing. Then came the lean. "Oh, I'm so tired, can I lean on you a minute?" she asked.
"Of course." I replied in as cool a tone as I could manage.
Several minutes later, recovered, we finished our drinks and gathered the group for the walk back. She and I slowed a bit and ended up trailing the group by 50 yards or so. The subtle touching of the preceding weeks and hours intensified to arm in arm walking, almost hanging, onto each other.
Silent glances between us.
We knew, or at least hoped, what would happen.
Who breaks the spell?
Who crosses that last line?
How?
Where?
We returned and gathered in our suite for several night caps. An hour later we were short on drink and Lisa volunteered to retrieve her bottle of vodka from her room. "I'll go with you!" I added, perhaps a bit to eagerly and a bit too loudly.
I followed her into her room and we were alone. She was looking out the window a moment and I put my arms around her from behind and bent down to put my chin near her face on her shoulder. She took her right hand and put it on my head and moaned just the subtlest moan.
I looked at her and turned her around and our lips met for the first time. Despite the two weeks of build up, it was surprisingly tender. It was that kind of kiss that leaves a heat signature, hot and dangerously close to exploding.
The second kiss was a conflagration.
Heaving breath, moans, tongues, nibbles, hands on skin. How long did it last? Who knows.
I slid my hand up her shirt, she was willing.
Bra clasp in the front, easy. Don't go right for the nipple--tease a bit.
Over.
Under.
Find that glorious side where the swell of the breast meets just under her arm.
Take the scenic route.
Her nipples were hard, like pencil erasers standing tall. I still hadn't seen them, but could feel them and they were amazing. I gently brushed them with the palm of my hand. My hands moved back and forth over her skin, circling and teasing her.
By then, she was quivering.
Her touch was electric; firm yet gentle on my chest and arms.
We paused and caught our breath. Staring at each other wanting to continue, we were waiting for the dam to burst.
"We can't do this here, my roommate is coming back." She whispered.
We nearly ran to my suite and found the crowd had gone. It turns out we had been away for about an hour. I kicked out Frank (he laughed as he squeezed by us), and we climbed up to my bed in the loft.
My roommate and I had figured out how to make two king size beds in a college dorm by building a platform about four feet off the ground that extended from wall to wall on one half of the room. I took the top, Frank took the bottom. With two mattresses on it, each of us had a king size bed. It was luxurious, and tonight it was going to be an altar of passion.
When we got up to my loft, we lay down and embraced that lovers embrace. Arms are entangled, legs are entangled, hips grinding, tongues writhing.
Shirts shed.
The taut coolness of skin on skin.
Pants unbuttoned.
The sweat building.
Giggles and tickles.
The rhythm of our breathing syncopated.
The firmness of her body the tautness of her breasts and nipples were intoxicating. Her breasts were small but exquisite. Pear shaped B cups with just the right amount of softness. I was entranced by the shape and curve, and by the nipples, now exposed. Pink, a little larger than a quarter, with those glorious nipples. She was beautiful.
She pulled her feet up to my waist as I was on top of her and she hooked her toes in the waist of my pants. She was able to pull them down with her feet. Never before or since has anything like that happened. Incredible.
She pushed me over onto my back and pulled them off me. My cock was hard; practically angry, at this point after all this buildup. I had a solid 6 inches, slightly above average girth and it was weeping pre-cum. At my age, I was at my peak and loving it.
She looked it over with a sly grin and a gleam in those Irish eyes and caressed me gently.
She took my cock in her hand by the base and said what is perhaps the most erotic thing any one has ever said to me "I'm going to swallow you now, OK?"
I almost blew all over the place right there. Jesus, I mean what the hell was I going to say. "Ohhhh, yessss" was all I could muster at that moment.
