A Late Bloomer’s First Time

"A Late Bloomer's First Time"

Reimagined by RareAsianPrincess

Everyone in our freshman English-101 class thought he was adorable.

Not in the "take him home" kind of way--but the "look how nervous he gets when you talk to him" kind of way. His name was Matt. Skinny, twitchy, polite. The kind of guy who sat in the second row, scribbled notes like he was training to be a court stenographer, and avoided eye contact like it might set off alarm bells.

Naturally, I chose him the second we got assigned partners in class.

Honestly, he barely said more than five words to me in person, but online? Total 180. Funny. Smart. Even bold sometimes. I liked watching his brain click. I liked watching him squirm. He wasn't like the guys I grew up with--loud, cocky, predictable. Matt was something else. I just couldn't figure out what yet.

So when my birthday-weekend party came up, I made a little bet with myself: how far could I push him before he cracked?

I invited him under the guise of needing a buffer from my ex--some guy I'd dated since high school and had no intention of carrying into college with me. Told Matt he'd be doing me a favor if he kept him distracted. He agreed, reluctantly, like everything he did around me. That was half the fun.

And he did great. They talked skateboarding for hours like best friends in a basement. I floated around, checked in, caught Matt watching me when he thought I wasn't looking. Those glances stuck to me like fingerprints.

By the time my ex left and the real party started, Matt looked dazed. But when we pulled him into Twister, I knew I had him.

He had no idea how good his body looked stretched out across that mat, too busy panicking about my ass brushing past his face to notice. I bent, twisted, arched under him--letting my skirt ride up just enough to short-circuit whatever logic was still working in his brain.

He fell trying to move, of course. Classic.

The party thinned out slowly after that. My other friends drifted off to bedrooms or headed home, leaving just Matt, my roommate Jess, and me to clean up the aftermath. I watched him from the kitchen as he carefully folded the Twister mat, his long fingers smoothing each crease with this intense focus I found strangely magnetic.

"You don't have to do that," I said, coming closer, two beers in hand.

He jumped slightly. "Oh. Sorry. Force of habit."

I handed him a beer, letting our fingers brush. His skin was warm, and he didn't pull away immediately--progress.

"Thanks for coming tonight," I said, leaning against the wall. "And for handling my ex so well."

"It wasn't hard." He took a sip, eyes darting to my bare legs before quickly looking away. "He's, uh, not that interesting."

I laughed. "Exactly why he's my ex."

We cleaned in comfortable silence for a while. I deliberately stayed close, reaching across him for empty cups, bending down to grab trash when I knew he was looking. Every time I glanced back, I caught him watching me--each time taking a fraction of a second longer before looking away.

When Jess announced she was going to bed, Matt shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "I should probably head out too."

"It's late," I said, checking the time--2:37 AM. "And you've been drinking. Take the couch."

I grabbed blankets and a pillow from the hall closet, brushing past him in the narrow hallway. His breath caught when our bodies made contact. I pretended not to notice, but heat pooled low in my belly.

"I'll set you up downstairs," I said, leading him to the living room.

I took my time arranging the blankets, bending over the couch more than necessary. When I turned around, he was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me with an intensity I hadn't seen before.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?" His voice was different now--lower.

For a moment, I considered closing the distance between us, seeing if he'd kiss me if I made it easy for him. But something told me that wasn't the game we were playing.

"Sweet dreams," I said instead, slipping past him and up the stairs.

In my room, I changed into an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, then sat on my bed, listening to the sounds of the house settling. My mind kept replaying moments from the night--the way Matt's body had tensed when I brushed against him during Twister, how his eyes had followed me around the room, the slight tremble in his hands when they accidentally touched mine.

I knew what he was thinking about. What he'd be doing.

I waited, counting minutes, giving him just enough time to believe he was alone.

***

MATT'S PERSPECTIVE

Matt listened to Svet's footsteps fade up the stairs, her last words hanging in the air. Sweet dreams. If she only knew what he was thinking.

He waited until the house went quiet. Until he was certain everyone had gone to sleep. The basement was dark except for a sliver of light from the hallway above. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, but he couldn't settle. Couldn't stop his mind from spinning.

It was torture being around her all night. The way she moved. The way she smiled at him like she knew exactly what she was doing.

He shifted under the blanket, painfully hard just thinking about her. He shouldn't. Not here. Not in her friend's house. But the memory of her was overwhelming.

Matt closed his eyes and slid his hand beneath his waistband, giving in to what he'd been fighting all night.

In his mind, he was back on the Twister mat. Svet beneath him, her body twisted in a perfect arch. Her skirt had ridden up just enough to reveal the curve of her ass and the delicate waistband of her baby blue panties. That flash of soft fabric clinging to the perfect shape of her Box--outlined between her thighs.

He'd pretended not to look, but the image was burned into his memory.

His hand moved faster.

He remembered the way she'd brushed against him in the hallway later. The heat of her body. The smell of her perfume. How she'd bent over right in front of him while making the couch, like she wanted him to look.

A quiet moan escaped his lips. He couldn't help it.

"Svet..."

He whispered her name without meaning to, lost in the fantasy. In his mind, she was still here, climbing on top of him, looking down with that smile that drove him crazy. Her weight on his lap. Her hands on his chest.

Matt's hips jerked up into his hand as the fantasy took over completely.

***

SVET'S PERSPECTIVE

He thought he was alone.

I stayed just out of sight, crouched behind the banister at the top of the stairs. I could hear him before I saw him--his breath shallow, uneven. That soft rhythm.

I peeked around the corner.

There he was.

Flat on his back, blanket half-tossed aside, hand moving slowly under the waistband of his sweats. The tension in his shoulders, the flex of his abs--he was beautiful like this.

I didn't move.

I watched the way his hips jerked as his hand stroked. The way his mouth parted, silent at first, then moaning--soft, quiet, needy.

I should've looked away. Should've said something. But I didn't.

Instead, I listened.

He whispered my name.

Not loud. Not deliberate. But like it escaped him without permission.

Svet...

A flood of heat pulsed between my legs. I pressed my thighs together.

He was thinking about me. Of course he was. That long stare he gave me after Twister. The way he'd practically twitched when I sat on him.

I bit my lip and let myself feel it--his fantasy unspooling right in front of me, raw and real and so fucking hot.

I was soaked now.

Watching him lose control like this--alone, desperate, because of me--was better than any game I'd ever played.

I waited until the moment just before he tipped over.

Then, and only then, I let out a soft giggle.

Matt's entire body jolted.

His hand froze mid-stroke, breath caught in his throat. His head snapped toward the sound, eyes wide, panic painted all over his face.

I stepped slowly into view, bare feet on the basement steps, my silhouette framed by the soft amber glow from the hallway behind me.

"Why'd you stop?" I asked, tilting my head.

I was smiling--but not in the teasing, surface-level way I usually did. This was different. Deeper. Hungrier. My voice was soft, but laced with heat.

"Shy?"

Matt opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Were you thinking about me?" I asked, descending one more step.

He hesitated. "I--uh... no."

"Liar," I whispered, and my grin deepened. "You're so bad at lying, Matt."

He fumbled for the blanket. I was already halfway across the room.

"Were you gonna cum on my friend's couch?"

His face flushed crimson. "No-- I--"

"In your pants?"

"I... I didn't mean to--"

"God, you're adorable."

I was standing over him now, eyes flicking from his hand to the bulge barely hidden beneath the crumpled sheet. He was still hard--achingly, painfully hard. I could feel the heat radiating off of him.

And I was soaked.

I reached down and gently pulled the blanket back. He didn't stop me. Couldn't. I slapped his hand away when he tried to cover himself again.

"Oh my god..." I murmured, my fingers wrapping around him. "You're really big. You never said anything."

"I didn't-- I mean--"

I climbed onto the couch in one slow, fluid movement, straddling his hips and pressing him into the cushions with my weight. My skirt rode up automatically, the heat between my thighs colliding with the tip of his cock through his sweats.

"Is this what you were thinking about?" I whispered. "Me... just like this?"

He nodded, breathless.

I started grinding on him slowly, letting the friction build. My pussy was slick through my panties. His cock throbbed beneath me.

I leaned forward and bit his neck. He gasped, hands clutching the couch.

Then I sat up, pulled my hair into a ponytail without breaking eye contact, and reached down again.

My fingers curled under my panties, pulling them aside.

"Close your eyes," I said, voice low and commanding.

He obeyed instantly.

The next thing he felt was me guiding the head of his cock against my soaking slit--rubbing it up and down, teasing myself with the shape of him. I wasn't playing anymore. I wanted this. Needed this.

Then I sank down.

A moan escaped my lips as the first few inches stretched me open.

"Oh my god," I breathed. "It feels so fucking good..."

Matt's mouth parted in shock, eyes fluttering open just in time to see me take more of him inside--slowly, inch by inch, until I was flush against him, grinding in slow, messy circles.

My breath was ragged. My stomach trembled. I dropped forward again, burying my face in his neck as I whispered, "I'm gonna cum..."

He could feel me clenching around him, fluttering, pulling him deeper.

"I'm close," he gasped.

I lifted my head and locked eyes with him. "Then do it," I whispered, voice breaking. "Cum inside me. Right now."

He bucked into me with a groan, and that was all it took.

I felt it first--his cock twitching violently as rope after rope of cum spilled inside me. I moaned loud, biting into his shoulder, grinding down like I wanted every last drop.

When it was over, I sat up slowly, breathless and glowing, his cum already leaking out of me.

I dipped my fingers between my legs, swirled some of it around, then licked one clean.

"Okay," I said casually, adjusting my skirt. "You better clean up before you fall asleep. I'm not taking the blame if you stain anything."

Then I turned, walked back upstairs without a glance behind me--leaving him stunned, used, and forever changed.

We never dated. He never asked. We just stayed close. Best friends, kind of. Sometimes I call him my brother. Sometimes I catch him staring at my legs when I wear short skirts.

Sometimes I flirt.

And sometimes, when I remember how he looked up at me that night--like I was his entire world--I think about doing it again.

But only sometimes.

What's funny is how much he changed after that night. Like something in him finally woke up. I see him talking to other girls now. Smiling more. Standing taller. I pretend not to notice when they touch his arm or laugh at his jokes.

I never tell anyone I was his first. That's our secret--the one thing he'll always have of me that no one else will.