Euphoric Recall

My mind was outpacing the high speed of my car. I was on my way to get a fix that I had been craving for a long time. No, it wasn't drugs or strong drink; it was the rush of raw sexual bliss. This mad dash to a finish had been a long time coming.

Ever since I knew that I was able to blow a load, I had dealt with lustful urges by taking matters into my own hands, so to speak. I had become a pro at the art of jacking off under a wide array of circumstances -- from the quickie just before sleep, producing as little vibration movement as possible, to the much more prolonged sessions with a magazine of full figured women.

Masturbation was a necessity. I wasn't exactly a babe magnet back in high school, and a broken family dominated by manipulative matriarchs had left me with a strong distrust of women. There was no doubt in my mind that I was straight. I just didn't want the risk of a commitment.

There were a couple of instances where girls had expressed interest in me; one was a brunette, and the other was a redhead. Both cases involved women who were eccentric in their own right.

The redhead could be moody, abrasive, dramatic, and self-absorbed, but she had a Rubeneseque form and knew how to market it. She also had a thing for wearing classic pumps, which were something of a weak spot for me. As an object of lust, she was hard to purge from my mind over the years.

Between my junior and senior years of high school, I had a weak moment which resulted in a one night stand of nothing more than first base making out. Things were awkward between us afterwards.

After high school, I took off for college, and she embarked on a Bohemian journey that took her through a short stint at a college where she didn't last a full year. She then moved to a different college town, and then spent some time in New York City. Eventually she made her way back to her hometown, living with her parents.

We did have occasional late night phone conversations, mostly about gossip, but sometimes I would bring up rather blunt questions regarding her sex life. It would make her mad, but my twisted sense of curiosity couldn't be contained.

Still, she had some feelings for me, and I would engage in some contorted mental games just to get a read on how she really felt. Even if my feelings for her were purely lurid and devoid of any emotional intimacy, it was a boost to my brittle ego to know that someone had some sort of desire for me.

By the time I was graduating from college, things were pretty stressful. Senior projects, plans for the future, and the death of a grandparent had clouded any rational judgment. One night, about a week before my graduation day, I called her and asked her if she wanted to meet for a sexual tryst.

That's how I got here. It was about a fifteen minute drive to her house in a nearby town. As I arrived, she came out of her house. She was wearing a tight-fitting black dress with a high-cut hemline. Her long, red hair was still a bit damp, apparently from a hastily taken shower. She was wearing a pair of black pumps that clomped deeply on the sidewalk as she walked to get into my car.

She directed me to drive to a piece of unimproved property out in the country owned by her brother. I asked her if we needed to get some protection, and she assured me that she was on the pill. I didn't know whether I could take her answer at face value, but my inner demons just didn't care about such details right now.

Once we arrived, we climbed into the back seat and we began to embrace, kissing ever more deeply until our tongues were entwined. I could smell the fragrance of the shampoo that she had used to wash her hair. She wore no makeup save for a dark shade of red lipstick that contrasted against the creaminess of her face. The windows quickly became steamed.

I made my move and caressed one of her breasts. The fabric of her dress and the bra thereunder taunted me. With sweat forming on the palm of my hand, I reached behind her back to unzip her dress. With her upper torso now exposed, I could dive freely into the cleavage of her ample breasts. I could feel the long fingernails of her hands dragging across my neck. I could feel the crotch of my jeans getting tighter.

With time, her breasts were liberated from the confines of her bra. Her small, tight nipples were like firm peas between my lips. I could hear her breath getting heavier, and I savored the faint odor of the sweat on her tits. I sucked and nibbled with abandon, while she writhed under me.

I reached up the hem of her dress, surprised to discover that she chose not to wear panties to our encounter. I stroked her thick, hairy red bush and inched my fingers toward her clit. Teasing her with evasive strokes, I heard her respond with muted moans of approval.

With the onset of dampness within the folds of her pussy, I plunged two fingers and then later a third. I rubbed the clit with the base of my hand as I jilled her gently. I wanted to push her to the point of no return, but I wanted her to savor the almost agonizing ride there.

After several minutes, her breathing leveled off, and she began to undulate her pelvis in response to my thrusts. She then let out a grunt that told me that she was definitely in a more pleasant space.

Once she gained her composure, she ordered me to get out of the car. She slid off the rest of her little black dress and left it lying in the uncut grass.

We lied down on the ground, with the chorus of crickets and countless other nocturnal insects chirping a soundtrack to this wanton scene. She unzipped my jeans and pulled them my ankles. My underwear was pushed back to expose a short but thick cock standing ready at attention.

She then took the head into mouth, fixed her lips into a tight suction lock on my shaft, and proceeded to lubricate me with her saliva. She took it all the way in and drew back, dragging her teeth lightly across the tender skin, as if to remind me that she was now in control. Her head bobbed increasingly faster on me, with her sour spit now dampening me.

Every once in a while she would tease me by pulling completly away, with thick strands of saliva running from the tip of my cock to her lips. She would then rub the pre-cum leaking from the tip onto her cheek. My balls began to tighten as I neared total loss of control.

I wanted to fuck her in the worst way. I pulled my pants off the rest of the way and took of my shirt to expose my hairy chest. She got on the ground, and parted her thighs. I slid into her velvety smooth pussy and started to thrust. Once she had adjusted to the thickness of my cock, I let go of whatever inhibitions I had left.

I don't remember what obscenities I uttered as we screwed under the pale moonlight. Her utterances coached and cheered me to the climax that I longed for. I was feeding my addiction with a blast of sex-induced dopamines.

I couldn't hold back any longer, and the time had come to decide. Do I trust her and cum inside her or pull out. Even in the utter loss of sanity, I could not bring myself to trust her. I pulled out my cock, took it into my hand, and aimed for her soft belly, just as the first thick, steamy stream of pearly cum shot out.

I know that it probably wasn't a load to rival those of Peter North, but it felt that way. Two squirts, a third, and a fourth. Each one not quite reaching as far as its predecessor. A sticky pool of my seed drenched her bush. She then got top of me and cleaned my cock off with her tongue.

Once she finished, she raised her head up to me to French me with her sticky lips. It was so erotic and so sinful. She ground her pelvis against mine, my cum forming a weak glue between our bodies.

We lay there, sated, soaked, and exhauste without motion. We redressed and I took her back home. We never had sex again. I would finally settle down with someone else several years later. I had to face up to my addiction and suffer hours of therapy. I'm probably a lot healthier now, but I despair over just how devoid of passion my marriage is these days. I still think about that strange, primal night and I manage a wistfully guilty smile.