Strange Love, or: How I learned to stop worrying and love to suck cock
**Disclaimer: All characters in this story are over the age of 18, and no minors are involved in any way**
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I guess I write things now. A lot of my newest friends have asked me about the path that led me here, and other than drowning my mind in erotic fiction and online porn, the biggest influence was my kinky-as-fuck boyfriend when I had just turned 18.
Mark was a little older than me, and we met when we went to high school together in the outskirts of Austin. He had just graduated and I was a senior; he was into punk music and metal and loud angry stuff and I was going into a gothy phase, wearing black clothes and generally being a girl that typical Texas 18 year old girls avoided. So by the time Mark and I started hanging out, I didn't have very many close friends and almost no experience in sex.
I was a virgin when we met, and barely knew how to deal with my own feelings of horniness and boys and my own body.
I was always skinny, and not very gifted in the breast area, and in Texas, big boobs are part of the culture as much as beer, guns and football. I didn't really have anything that Texas guys liked.
Mark was a dark, brooding guy and teenage me just wanted to impress him and be liked. So we would hang out in his parents' guest house a lot and listen to music and make out and smoke weed. It wasn't long before he started rubbing me inside my pants, or under my skirt.
I had played with myself before but Mark was way better. Plus, he knew the right words to say that made me melt, drip and explode. I didn't know what he was doing at the time, but I'm sure it would have looked obvious to anyone with half a brain. Mark did a pretty good job of preventing me from thinking too much about anything.
At first it was just like playful filthiness; what we wanted to do to each other while he teased my pussy with his hands. He let me know it was easier when I wore my little goth skirts and I pretty much stuck to that for most of the time we were together.
I call him my boyfriend but if you had asked him I'm not sure if he would have called me his girlfriend. Sometimes I wonder what he said about me when I wasn't there; how much dirtier it was than the stuff he whispered in my ear while he rubbed my clit until my brains dropped out.