She avoided me for a few days, it felt like months, every hour she hid in her room, slipped out before I was awake, passed me in the kitchen without speaking, I felt it in my belly, a quickening when I heard her footsteps, the hope, she'd speak to me, look at me, allow me to apologise. And then awful churning despair when she left. When nothing happened.
I stood outside her bedroom door on countless occasions, hesitating, my hand raised, ready to knock, failing. I could hear her inside, movement, music, I imagined my beautiful friend working, reading, studying. Undressing. I hesitated. Then backed away. I lost my nerve. She hated me. Hated herself. We'd ruined the friendship.
And still I couldn't stop remembering, when I undressed, when I stood in the shower, when I padded back to my bedroom and dropped my towel. When I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn't stop thinking of her, undressing with me, undoing her bra, pushing her underwear down, showing me her bare breasts, her dark bush. My arousal spun inside me, throbbed and ached. I dropped onto my bed, and touched my naked sex, I felt the thickened dampened skin of my naked pussy, and masturbated again, and again, and again, thinking of Laila, our night together, reaching for her, touching her beautiful warmth, her sweet wet sex, being pulled over her, our bodies together, my mouth on hers, my fingers inside her, gripped by her tight anus, sliding over her damp genitals.
I came. Then cried a little. And sometimes slept.
I saw Karl leaving one morning. And wondered if they had just made love. If he had got to kiss Laila, touch her, under her and taste her, undress with her, open her legs and slide his erect penis deep inside her sweet tight vagina. If they had played. If she had pretended to be asleep, if he had pretended to force himself on her. I was exhausted. And still my pleasure leapt. I felt my vagina become damp. And without thinking I was reaching underneath my skirt, pulling down my knickers, and stroking my exposed sex. I fell back onto the bed, my legs wide, my fingers rapid and merciless.
More days, more nights. I had to speak to her, this was silly. We'd had sex. Even if this wasn't quite a 'so what' for either of us, for different reasons, it didn't have to be this big a deal. Did it? Did she think I'd want more? I did, of course, but I wouldn't do anything, try anything, not when she didn't want to.
I sank into memories, forcing myself to remember people other than Laila. I thought of Paul, I told myself to think of him again, when I finally admitted him to my parents, remembered the first time he came to dinner, reaching for his cock under the table, finding his soft little member and feeling it stiffen, and getting up to go to the toilet, and slipping my panties off, sitting back down, letting my skirt ride up, taking Paul's hand and pushing it between my legs, making him touch my pussy, guiding his fingers between my lips, sliding them over the warm slippery skin of my naked, hairy pussy, my mother and father across the table from us.
I remembered, I think, later that same evening, or another, waiting for Paul to go to the bathroom, waiting outside to hear him finish, and pushing him back in, god, I was so greedy for him, for it, for his cock. Pushing him back and dropping to my knees, opening his trousers and pants, pushing them down and finding his soft cock, taking it in my mouth, tasting the faint salty tang of urine, before feeling him stiffen.
I lost myself in memories, trying to drive Laila away from my mind, trying to recreate an old obsession. On my knees in my parents' upstairs bathroom, Paul's hard penis in my mouth, sliding my lips back and forth, feeling it swell, thicken, sucking his sweet stiff cock, fully dressed, bobbing my head up and down along his erect penis, like a little slut, still barely knowing what I was doing (was this the fourth or fifth time I'd had his penis in my mouth? Only the third or fourth I'd sucked it until Paul had an orgasm, filling my mouth with his hot seed?) as my mother and father did the washing up.
Going back downstairs, leaving him there, his penis starting to drop, leaving him to with his cum still dripping over then back of my throat, the taste of his honey spunk still on my tongue.
*********************
And, I forced myself, I faced it again. Being caught. One Friday morning, when at least one of us should have been in lectures, when I was sure my mother should have been at work until later that afternoon. Still early, it was forever still early for us, we never gave ourselves a chances to grow tired of each other. I told him about having seen my parents making love, I described it, their bodies, my mother's legs, her orgasm, seeing my father's penis, her words, her sluttish encouragements, watching them fuck, watching him slide his penis from her vagina and masturbate over her, until he came over her.
"Really? You saw them fuck?"
"Uh-huh."
"Completely?"
"Yep, you never have?"
"Seen your parents fuck? No, never."
"Idiot, yours."
"No, not sure I'd want to."
"Oh, your dad's cute, your mum's pretty."
"Hmm. Was it... your father... his... what was his cock like?"
"Oh, well, kind of big, actually, he's... you know, circumcised, and, large, yeah."
"Really? Uh, compared to me?"
"Bigger. Sorry. I mean, a fair bit bigger, longer, thicker, god, yours isn't small, not that I know, yours is the only one I've really seen up close."
"And he really... over your mum?"
"Yeah, god they were filthy weren't they, my mother was so dirty, and he did, I can't believe I watched, I, I was so turned on, I couldn't help it, I saw him pull his cock out and wank over her, sitting over her, stroking it, and coming all over her tits, her face even."
I told Paul, and could see his penis grow, sitting, listening, imagining my parents, my mother, thinking of my father's large cock, he started to get aroused. We sat opposite and I saw his penis become hard, I saw that wonderful tell-tale bend of his cock bulging up against his trousers. I demanded he strip right there, in the living room, quickly, tugging off his T-shirt, his jeans and socks, letting my look at the thick arch of his aroused penis held by his underwear, before pushing them down, letting his swelling cock bounce free.
"You're already hard."
"Mmm."
"Why, I wonder, was it hearing me talk about my parents fucking?"
"Well, yes."
"My mother, her legs spread, her hands on my dad, her finger in his ass? Or him? His long cock?"
I stared at Paul's, rising up, swelling, not vertical, not quite, pointing out from his stomach, up, exposing his tight round scrotum, I could visualise my father's, darker, his smooth tip permanently visible, thicker, a little, but so much longer, in my memory, I was sure it wasn't playing tricks, I could see it as he rose away from my mother, pulling himself out of her, I could see it popping out, springing upwards, rising in front of him, fuck, wet from her, dark, brown like milky coffee, and then holding it, bending himself over her and masturbating.
I looked at my boyfriend's cock. With my father's fresh in my head. It looked smaller, slimmer, but so much shorter. And, with that covering of skin, that delicate shield hiding his soft red tip. My vagina moistened. Looking. Looking at Paul's nude body, his aching cock. It was smaller, but it didn't look small. I sat. My legs crossed.
"Pull your foreskin back."
He did, Paul raised his hand to his penis, held his rigid stem and slid his soft skin away from his smooth oval bulb. I felt myself clench, my pussy tightened. I stared at his fully exposed cock, his dark damp tip, wider, thicker than his stem, like a fat cap, some sweet plump fruit growing at the end of his thick stalk, within it the tiny raised slit of his opening.
"Do you want to do that to me?"
"Yes."
"Yes?"
"I want to fuck you. I want your hands on me, I want to kiss your naked body, I want to slide my cock inside your sweet cunt."
"Do you want to come over me?"
He paused. I saw his penis jump.
"Well?"
"Jesus Sali."
"You do don't you?"
"Yes, god, I want to fuck you until... until I'm nearly... until I nearly finish, and pull out and come over your body."
"Where? Tell me."
"I want to come over your beautiful tits."
"My beautiful brown tits." I corrected him.
"Fuck, I want to come on your beautiful, beautiful brown tits."
"My face?"
"I want to come on your face, I want to see my thick spunk dripping over your lips, your cheeks."
I undressed, in front of him, carefully, but quickly, unzipping and letting my dress fall, unclipping my bra, pushing down my panties, looking at him look at my naked body, watching his cock pulse and quiver, point up in front of him, long and thick, feeling his eyes upon me, upon my small breasts, my large rigid nipples, the thick dark fur above my pussy. I wanted to see us together, I wanted to do what my mother and father had done, where my mother and father had done it.
"Come on, upstairs."
I led the way. Looking behind, looking at Paul's stiff cock bouncing in front of him, feeling the slippery thick lips of my pussy slide together. I was so wet, he was so hard, I lay on my parents' bed and pushed my legs wide apart, pulled him on top of me, felt his smooth firm body against mine, his lips, his chest, we rolled, I was on top, I pushed my thick bush against his thighs, I opened my pussy and slid it along the length of his dick, gliding, grinding ourselves together, I felt his hands stroking my small bare ass, we rolled again, he slid between my legs, and I reached for his cock. I pushed my hand between us and found my boyfriend's erect penis, gripping, stroking, savouring the wonderful alien heat of it, the thrilling hardness, aroused as always by the blatancy of his. I gripped his rigid cock and guided it to my soft damp vagina.
He pushed forward and entered me, I felt his tip stretch me open, I heard myself gasp as Paul slid deep inside me in a single smooth breathtaking thrust. Oh god he felt so big, so stiff and full.
"Fuck me Paul, fuck me like a little slut, fuck me hard, then pull your cock out of me, and push me on the floor, on my knees, I want to watch us, in the mirror, I'll kneel in front of you and you wank over me, come over me, come on my face, all over my filthy face."
We lost ourselves in our lust, in our refracted depravity, we fucked in my parents' bed, in the middle of a quiet suburban winter morning, cars and wind in trees outside, our cries and moans filling the house, giving into our pleasure, wallowing in it, speaking it, shouting it.
