The Sounds Of Sex 1

Heavily autobiographical.

This all took place a long time ago, at the tail end of the hippie era. I was so young. Looking back many decades later, I am astounded at the naivete and inexperience I embodied at that time. The "summer of love" had managed to elude me in my small town New England home, my love-life far more barren than I had hoped.

But I was in college now, nineteen years old and I had made a new sweetie a few months previously. Melissa was a class ahead of me (although unfortunately at a different college) and two inches taller. Things on the intimacies front, while still moving far too slowly for me, were looking up.

It was beastly hot in Boston. I had begun to wonder why we had made this trip. That summer Melissa and I were working at an Atlantic seaside resort town, her hometown, but had driven in to Boston on a sweltering August Friday afternoon to catch a concert on the city green, Bonnie Raitt along with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band. We had bummed a ride from Hal and Erin, vague friends in town and also a couple, and we would be staying at their friend John's flat in Brookline.

On the drive to Boston, windows wide open to catch whatever breeze we could, we saw streams of city dwellers in their cars emptying out of town to the coast, which we had just left. They were far more sensible than us. The roads were clogged with grumpy drivers anxious for some relief away from the city, and the further we got into Boston, the hotter it got, the tall steel and glass buildings reflecting the heat back on to the streets. People walking on the sidewalks looked exhausted and dispirited, their wet clothes sticking to their overheated bodies.

One bank sign we had passed indicated the temperature was 104. Melissa and I looked at each other. No wonder we were sweating like pigs. Boston never got this hot, did it?

She had her dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail due to the heat. Her hair was perhaps her most striking feature, long and thick, and when she wore it braided down her back, the top-most part of the braid was as thick as my wrist.

Hal and Erin looked just as hot up front in the car. Hal was a skinny surfer-dude type, long dirty-blond hair and slender shoulders and hips. Erin had pale Irish skin and freckles, handsome curly red hair and a big chest for her short size. Flashing eyes and a saucy smile graced her face charmingly and often. The back and armpit portions of Hal's tee-shirt were dark with sweat.

Concert was great, but it was still oppressively hot when close to midnight we got back to John's. Weary, we went to bed straight away, John in his own bedroom at the front of the long narrow flat, Hal and Erin in the empty spare bedroom in the middle.

Melissa and I were on the overstuffed, beat-up couch in the room between the bedrooms and the bathroom. There was no doorway between that bedroom and our room, just an open gap where a pair of french doors had once been. Everyone would have to go through our space to get to the kitchen or the toilet. Standard, cheap college-age digs.

All the windows were open, but no air moved. Lying there you didn't even contemplate getting up to fetch some iced water out of the fridge -- it was more effort than you wanted to expend. Melissa and I were keeping as far away from each other as possible on the couch, so our sweaty bodies wouldn't touch and create more heat. This was totally frustrating because we had been looking forward to this weekend not only for the concert, but because we might have a chance for some extended intimacies, problematic to us due to our separate, overly-supervised, summer living situations.

So here we were, with a golden sexual opportunity, and it just was too damn hot to even want to do anything fun. I had on a pair of briefs, Melissa in a tee-shirt and panties, her thick prominent nipples exceedingly arousing as they poked at the fabric covering them. Altogether still too much clothes for comfort.

Melissa was tall and almost too thin, her chest almost nonexistent to her great regret. She said her breasts looked like "pancakes" plastered to her chest. Her thick dark nipples were entirely compensating to my mind. I had to spend a lot of time reassuring her that I thought she was beautiful, her chest entirely handsome, and that boob-size mattered nothing to me in a girlfriend (almost true.) My high school time spent on the wrestling team and in the weight room meant my own pectorals were rounded, pronounced, and hard.

One day Melissa's sister had stared at both of us at the beach, me shirtless and Melissa in her bikini, and said, pointing at me, "He's got a bigger chest than you do!" Thanks Sandy. She made each of us squeeze our pectorals together and I could produce more cleavage than Melissa. She laughed but I know it bugged her.

I was not finding it easy to get to sleep. Streetlight came in dimly from the wide open windows and around 1 AM, it was dark, airless, and depressing. Melissa's breathing had grown heavy. Uncharacteristically she had drifted into unconsciousness before me. My thoughts wandered.

And then I came alert with a start. The bed in the next room had started to creak. Like us, due to the various cheap, shared, and contorted living arrangements we all had had to take in town, Hal and Erin found that getting intimate time together was a challenge.

But now their brass bed was moving, you could hear the bed-springs squeaking, the headboard barely bumping against the wall. Heat or not, Hal and Erin were fucking.

All my senses were now on full-alert. I was hot and uncomfortable, and now I was going to have to listen to the pair in the next room make love. Their bed wasn't in view from our place on the couch but it was barely a dozen feet away. With four long steps I could have been right next to them.

They must have either thought we were already asleep or maybe were aroused enough they couldn't care less. I was tempted to get up and tiptoe over to witness the fornication from the open doorway but ruled this out for a variety of very sensible reasons.

After maybe five minutes of unmistakable and increasingly insistent bed thumping, although it felt longer than that, Erin started to make noises. First it was muffled moans, then progressively louder and more breathless "Aaahhhs." My ears strained to catch each sound while my heart raced with excitement.

It took zero imagination on my part to picture Hal on top of her, plunging his prick into her soaking cunt with enthusiasm, sweat pouring off his forehead and his long stringy surfer hair draped over his back and onto her. Her big chest spread out and squashed between them, a pungent film of perspiration between their bodies, lubricating their friction as they slid against each other.

I listened intently, trying to calculate how long it all would go on.

I could envision his skinny ass-cheeks pumping away, his balls banging up against the confluence of their groins. Erin's "oohhs" and "ahhs" grew to a quiet crescendo, and a final prolonged exhalation signaled that she had orgasmed. Hal's panting also increased, although he was much quieter.

After another two minutes of even more violent bed-shakings, the tempo picked up. Hal's grunts were stifled but unmistakable. Then all was still. It could only mean that Hal had finished. His penis would still be hard and up her, but would be softening and surrounded by his flooded sperm. I swallowed.

I had never seen sex between two people before but now had heard it. The darkness had extenuated my sense of hearing, making the scene all the more immediate. And of course I knew the individuals involved. I was aroused (and envious) to an extraordinary degree.

I heard them murmur little love-sounds into each other's ears. They had achieved the ever elusive college-age trifecta: a good undisturbed fuck, with the female coming first and then the male afterwards. Except for the heat, it didn't get any better than that.

Everyone was happy but probably soaked.

I was coated with sweat myself but decidedly less contented. It is brutal to be horny as hell yourself and then hear another couple get their pleasure. My cock was achingly hard. I lay there still, unmoving, reliving in my head all the sounds I had just witnessed, the murmurs of pleasure, the tempo of the penetrations, Hal's final satisfied grunt.

I heard them uncouple and separate. If this had been winter they would have slept close together. I wondered if either or both of them would traipse through our room to piss or mop-up in the bathroom, when maybe through half-closed eyes I might glimpse a damp wagging cock or swaying naked breasts, but no one did.

I knew that for the rest of the weekend, every time I looked at Hal and Erin I would bring to mind his stiff penis up her, sliding away with pleasure while she squeezed around him, emptying his sperm tanks into her delightful little channel.

Then out of the silence and dark, I felt a set of fingers glide up and down my prick, which was pressing hard up against my undershorts. My anus tightened involuntarily and my cock twitched. Melissa's fingers drew a line up and down my shaft, stopping to fondle my balls at one end and my prick-head at the other. She pressed her palm firmly on my erection, and I tingled delightfully. My hips squirmed into the couch beneath me.

She fished my prick out of my undershorts, my balls hard and restless, scrunched above the top of the elastic band of my briefs, and by the time she first touched the bare tip of my prick-head, it was already wet.

I started to reach over, wanting to grope her crotch, but with her other hand she pressed me softly but firmly back into the couch. She at least let me run my fingers over her erect nipples through her tee-shirt. We were quiet as death, but her hands were purposeful and insistent.

My prick welcomed every touch, every caress up and down, every dalliance her fingers made at my cock-head. She was quiet, delicate with her touch.

Our intimacies so far along in our relationship had been enthusiastic but decidedly amateur.

Melissa came from a strong Catholic family who barely approved of me. Copulating was entirely out of the question for her, although I nurtured hopes that she might change her mind over time. So our sex was awkward, and while satisfying on one level, it fell far short of the mark I was hoping for. I had learned to finger her to climax, pleased with my new skill of kissing her madly while my finger worked her labia and her hips shuddered to a pleasure.

For me it meant rubbing my penis up against her thigh, then later learning to do a quasi-missionary position on top of her without penetration, my cock rubbing up and down her mons. I would dump my sperm on her well-furred crotch, but outside her channel.

A couple times recently I had straddled her torso and spurt my sperm out onto her chest. I was pleased she enjoyed this, she said she liked the sight of my penis up close, although I noticed she always closed her eyes when I was ejaculating. We were both so new to this exciting business. Twice she had masturbated me all the way to completion, but these had been mostly fumbling affairs. We were both still technically "virgins."

But now her fingers were circling my glans, running lightly around and along its engorged surface, smooth touches that made my anus tighten. My own fingers played with her nipples and her sweaty chest, while her hands continued to caress me, one hand now on my prick, the other cupping my balls and squeezing them delectably.

I didn't last five minutes. As I was already hard, Melissa didn't waste any effort in prolonging my pleasure. I had over a week's stored up sperm, begging for release. I was trying desperately not to make any noise, but all my thoughts were concentrated on my prick-head. I knew we weren't as noticeably noisy as the lovebirds in the next room, but had no idea whether our own activities would be detectable.

I didn't much care. She had made a circle with the thumb and fingers of her right hand now, and was sliding it up and down my prick, pressing ever so exquisitely on my glans ridge on the upstroke, rubbing along my shaft, until my hips contracted together, my anus squeezed and I pumped out a good strong six-spurt load up onto my belly. She continued to stroke me, slowly now, fingers pressing along the longitudinal ridge of my prick to urge the last bits of semen up and out of my balls. The last drop clung to the top of my prick-head, and my stomach was a mess, semen puddling on the few hairs I then had about my navel.

This had been by a large margin the most creative finger work she had ever done to me. My breath was elevated, my heart racing. In a few months we would begin to learn the pleasures of mouths and tongues on genitals, and our sex life would then rapidly take off, but so far, this had been the most intense climax ever with her.

Melissa gave me a quiet kiss and wiped her hand off on my briefs. Fair enough. I reached over to stroke her through her panties but she parried my hand again and returned it to me. "Too hot," she whispered in my ear. This was to be for me alone, it appeared. What a sweetheart.

The vague thought I had was whether divesting myself of all that hot fluid would make me any cooler, but of course that notion was ridiculous. I had never noticed any cooling effect by pissing on a hot day and urine volume is way greater than any semen discharge.

My back was sweaty and sticking to the couch, and the movements and effort of my climax had heated me far more than any cooling that would come of dumping my semen out. The one thing it did do was make going to sleep easier. Melissa said later that I drifted off almost instantly.

The next morning I awoke to the crusty dried-out remains of sperm on my sparse stomach hair, my prick still outside of my shorts but limp and bedraggled. Don't think I have ever had that hot a night before. Luckily I pulled my briefs on before Hal and Erin surfaced, tousled hair the only sign of their own night's overheated amusements.