This story graphically depicts fingering, clitoral stimulation, and oral sex. This is part one in a three-part series; if you're looking for more sex and less story, check out part two and three. There will probably be grammar, punctuation, storyline mistake -- this is my first story, and I'm working out the kinks (pun intended). All characters, storylines and acts are consensual, 18+ and completely fictional. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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At the ripe age of 25, I thought I knew everything about love, sex and happiness -- and figured I'd had my fill of each.
I met my ex-fiancé when we were eighteen, and we had been each other's first for everything. Sex had never been an issue for us either; we knew how to make each other cum, and he knew I liked to fuck as often as possible.
That's also how I knew it was ending before it actually did; my ex stopped wanting to fuck as much, and I accepted that my peak for good sex was over.
Then I met him, and everything changed.
It was a shitty January night, and I was on another date with a girl I'd been hitting it off with. My ex and I had just broken up over Christmas, and I was determined to use my newfound freedom to explore my bisexuality.
I was definitely leaning hard into being more into girls too; after ten years waiting for my boy to grow into a man, I was done with all-things male. I was ready for titties in my face and my pussy buried in hers.
And I was already learning that I was most girl's type, thank god. I was five-six with dark brown hair that covered my small-but-still-a-handful boobs, and had a thin waist that curved into a very thick ass.
Needless to say, I was feeling really good about this second date. Sarah, the cute girl that'd hit me up on Tinder a week before, had suggested we try out pool night at one of the breweries. And although she showed up with another friend, I was a couple beers deep and feeling good about the connection we had.
An hour in, when we'd both only played a few rounds and found out neither were very good, she had to leave suddenly. The friend she'd brought had to get going, so I gave her a kiss and said goodbye.
At that point, I already had a buzz and decided to stick around. Scanning the remainder of the people here for pool night, my eyes landed on the man I had immediately noticed -- and then tried to stop noticing -- when I had first walked in.
Clean-shaven with a jawline that could cut glass, this man was dressed in typical BC-wear of an oversized hoodie, big 'n' baggie jeans and a toque that sat just above his glassy eyes.
I had walked by him earlier and been hit with a waft of weed, which had immediately made me like him. He clearly had good taste... But could he hold a conversation?
Pool night, I had realized, was the perfect place to make friends. And the beer had made me bold enough to wait for him to be on his own before going over and asking him to play against me.
Besides some light teasing, we didn't talk as we both took our turns around the pool table. I was too focused on not looking like a total idiot while I played, and when he played, I was completely mesmerized by his long fingers wrapping around the cue. They were so strong... I couldn't stop myself from imagining them playing with my clit, or even better, thrusting inside me.
He won the game, quietly smiling and thanking me. His reserved demeanor was intriguing though; my ex had always been the loudest in the room.
"So, do you come here often?" I hated how I sounded, but I could see him starting to fade back into the crowd and I didn't want to lose him yet.
"Yeah, every Tuesday." His voice was so quiet that I had to strain to hear it. "I come with some friends from work."
"Where do you work?"
"I'm a nurse in the operating room," still not meeting my eyes, I could tell I was losing my touch. He didn't appear the most interested, whereas I was more intrigued than ever.
A nurse? He must be really good with his hands... Not to mention, caring. And how old was this guy? He looked like he could be younger than me.
"How old are you?" I tried not to look more invested than him.
"28."
I swear my pussy throbbed then. My ex had been just two weeks older than me, and the difference in maturity was ultimately what broke us up. But three years was a good age range, and his quiet confidence was oozing a sex appeal that was quickly turning my head.
I realized then that I liked him. But that realization scared the shit out of me. I had no plans to like, let alone be attracted, to a guy again. Might as well throw this one, I thought -- and decided to do it the only way I knew how... Being myself.
"So, what do you think happens after we die?" I'd always been a lover of deep, existential thoughts (another thing my ex and I did not have in common) and wished we lived in a world where this was more of a norm than small talk. I figured then too that if I never saw this guy again, I may as well drop my latest theory on the afterlife.
"I think we're stripped to our very essence and join the natural energies in way of these 'soul huddles', where we basically hang out with other souls that are on the same wavelength until we're sent back to Earth," this was one of my favourite thoughts to explore and I knew the smile on my face was giving that away.
I glanced over at him, expecting more disinterested body language, but his eyes were almost as wide as the smile on his face.
And that's when I learned two things that changed the rest of the night -- and looking back, the course of my life: this man was interested in the same mysteries of the universe that I was too, and that he had the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen.
We spent the rest of pool night talking, and eventually teasing each other (I admitted that I loved how he smelt like weed and he was quick to compliment me on my tattoos). It felt different and easier than I'd been used too.
"Can I get your number?" He asked as the night began to wind down. His question threw me; I wasn't expecting him to want to see me again. Even more surprising, I wasn't expecting to want to see him again either.
"Fine, but I should let you know that I'm pretty into girls right now. I just got out of a long-term relationship and I'm not looking for anything," I warned him as I typed my name into his phone.
He waited until he had his phone back before piercing me with those hazy blue eyes and saying with a lazy smile, 'I'm not looking for anything serious either... And I'm not worried, I'm used to turning gay girls straight."
The pulsing in my pussy turned into a gush then, and I realized he might be a real threat to my 'no-sex' rule. Time to get out of here.
I made an excuse and gave him a hug goodbye, wondering if I'd let myself see him again if he did ask. He made my body feel alive in a way that I wasn't totally comfortable with; it felt like a warning, but was I going to listen?
Getting home an hour later, I crawled into bed and checked to see if he'd texted. He had.
"Jessie."
I didn't realize I hadn't gotten his name until now. And of fucking course, it was my dad's name.
