I shared a house with Laila when we were in college together, when I finally moved out from my parents'. I knew she'd been seeing this guy, her first real boyfriend, someone white. She wasn't really devout, but was more traditional than me. She didn't really drink, but one night we shared a bottle of wine, then another. I told her some of my old moments, first times. I told her about Paul. And she got talking.
I am still not sure about this, whether I need a disclaimer somewhere. I don't really like meta-fictional explanations. I like stories to take people by surprise. Myself included. To be safe perhaps, and to be clear (though I truly hope that if there are any stray readers who need this made clear to them, they find another story, another site. And psychiatric help), this about the fantasy of force, and the consensual role-playing of same. Ravishment then, not rape. There are a few theories about why women, and men, get aroused by this fantasy, but all I want to say here is that it's qualitatively different from non-consensual sexual assault. To confuse the two is to make a large sized category error. One is sex. The other is violence. And if this is more than enough to step on everyone's buzz thank-you-very-much, feel assured that violence is probably not your thing. If it is, go away, I mean it, you're not welcome here.
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God she was beautiful. I knew she turned women's heads as much as men's, even under her scarf, I knew her figure was one that would drop lovers into spirals of desire, even under her loose, her modest clothing.
I found myself staring some nights, forgetting the TV, forgetting my book. Having to look away quickly. Once, one evening when I was in bed, alone, after I had felt the swell of arousal that made me think to masturbate, the image that entered my mind, suddenly, as I fell into my climax, after I'd thought of the people I always thought of, was of Laila, undoing her headscarf, her dress, pushing it off her shoulders, letting it fall from her long, slim, smooth, brown body, naked underneath, standing in front of me, showing me, letting me look at her full firm breasts, her thick dark pubic hair. I let the thought take me, I felt my sex thicken and pulse with the sudden intrusion of unfamiliar desire, of forbidden lust, I came as I thought of her taking my hand, inviting me between her legs, holding my fingers over her sex, I shuddered with pleasure as I imagined touching her, my fingers feeling her warm wet pussy.
It was one of those wonderful accidental evenings of wine and conversation that happen out of nowhere. We had the house to ourselves, the two other girls were both out, at least until much later. I started alone, planning on the single glass, knowing I'd give in to another. Some Friday night stuff on TV, the sound down, some music on. Drinking a little, reading a little. Laila joined me. And asked if she could have some. This wasn't a complete first, but it was still a rare occurrence. I padded back into the kitchen, got another glass and poured us both some cold Riesling.
We drank and chatted, about nothing, everything. I still thought we'd both be asleep by ten. When I asked her about Karl. I'd seen them together once or twice, coming back from lectures. A couple of times leaving the house. I mean, I guess I thought they were friends, nothing more, I was teasing a little bit, goading her into admitting she liked him, fancied him, I enjoyed getting Laila to admit to erotic thoughts, to getting aroused. She said nothing. When I knew that if there was nothing to say she would have merely laughed, giggled, admitted to some attraction, or not.
"Laila, you are being suspicious."
"No, no no."
"Yes, yes yes. Has something... have you and Karl...?"
"What?"
The image that had entered my head was overpowering, I couldn't resist expressing it. I played the daring one. It was an unusual role for me. Things were relative.
"Have you touched his cock?"
"Sali!"
"What? Come on, I am interested, and if you have you know you want to talk about it, what have you done? Anything? Have you held his penis? Have you... have you sucked it? Have you slept together? Have you been fucking? Tell me."
"Oh gosh, promise..."
"Of course."
"Promise you won't tell anybody?"
"I promise."
"Yes."
"Yes? What?"
"We've been... we have... we have made love, yes. Oh gosh."
"Oh wow, Laila, oh that's so good, I'm so happy, I mean, he was your first right?"
"Yes, yes."
"You lost your virginity. What was it like?"
"Well, I mean, technically..."
"Technically?"
"A few months ago, god, Sali I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind, I mean, I cleaned it completely afterwards..."
"Sali, you are being suspicious again."
"I was looking for, well, a book you'd mentioned, I really was, not that I thought it would be in a drawer, but I opened your drawers..."
"Mmm?"
"I saw, I found a... your..."
"My vibrator?"
"Yeah. And your... the other... your dildo. Yes."
And I felt the first quick tremble of arousal, at her words, using them, the idea of her looking at my little toys, seeing the dildo, life-like, my colour, our colour, just about, thick, rippled with large fake veins, a pair of oval balls at its base, a large exposed glans at its tip. I knew it was more acceptable to avoid the imitative, that smooth white vibrators were more the thing for a politically aware sister. I hadn't been able to resist, it dated from my time with Paul, but the image of Laila coming across this large, real-looking cock in my bedside drawer, knowing what she would have to realise: that I had used it, that I used it on myself, to pleasure myself, that I had slid this dark penis inside my vagina, and given myself countless orgasms.
"And? Laila, filthy thing, did you borrow it?"
" "
"It's okay, seriously, did you use it?"
"Yes."
"It's lovely isn't it? Didn't you think?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, I'd never, not never, but..."
"You put it inside your pussy?"
"Uh-huh."
I let this sit there. Let the thought of my friend touching herself, undressing, laying on her bed, feeling her own arousal, the anticipation, that lovely sweet nervous pleasure, spreading her legs, stroking my dildo over the damp skin of her sex, closing her eyes, wanting this, afraid of this, pushing that smooth thick cock head into her vagina, feeling her tight pussy grip it hard, pushing harder, deeper, fucking herself with it.
"It was, it was nice, I mean, I wanted to, not to be, a virgin, this was before I knew Karl, I don't know, I wanted to know a little, what it might be like, to know."
"Sure, very wise. Did you come?"
"No, it hurt too much."
"Oh."
"Later I did."
"Oh, really?"
"Mmm, sorry, the next day, you were out, at lectures, I... I tried again, oh god it was so nice, I had an orgasm."