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Brie had a habit of pressing her face against my neck during some point towards the end of sex. But there were also times when she clutched the back of my neck with her hand and suddenly I felt her nose bearing down on my Adam’s apple only about two minutes in. When she did this I assumed she was just nervous and didn’t know what to do. And she did get nervous. About a lot of things. Unlike me, who got nervous about nothing.
I got tired of her doing it, sometimes. There was only so much I could take of her nose pressing down on my Adam’s Apple. Her cheek rubbing against my chin felt good at first, but it would feel a little strange when I’d start pounding her harder and I’d feed the movement of her jaws as they opened wider and she emitted higher noises against my neck. So one breezy day January day, when the shades were shut because Brie insisted on it whenever we fucked in my dorm room, I realized that the situation was mine. I didn’t have to allow her to hibernate against me like this all the time; I was in charge of the situation. Didn’t I know that? I was always in charge of the situation.
So, deciding that we should brush up on our modern dance choreography (and she had been a dancer, which she’d given up for studying painting and banging me of course), I gripped either side of her waist and hoisted her upwards. Now she was just riding me like a good girl. And Brie did not protest. She curled her head down so she was looking straight down at my lower belly. She turned up the volume of her moans as if the hairier part of my stomach made it so much sexier. And when she tried to dip downward again, I didn’t let her. I pushed her body up so she was more erect, an extension of my cock. Her head tilted back and she faced the dangling light on the ceiling. She was too absorbed in her passion to know how close she was to hitting her head and getting a concussion, or at least setting the room on fire, which would probably be best for a shitty dorm room like mine, actually.
So what Brie settled on doing was not as severe as her neck-performance, but I was surprised that she did it anyway. She reached under her ass and writhed her hand over my cock. She nearly unrolled the condom, which she also insisted I wear (I guess my days, er, previous year of irresponsibly raw-dogging every girl who smiled at me were over. Sigh). What was her motive here? Did she presume to be in charge of the situation rather than me?
Whatever it was, she did in fact situate my old pal even deeper inside her. And she did start going wild because of it. Her moans became staccato. Her breaths became rapid. I flopped my ass up and down, pounding her harder, not even caring that I was wearing a rubber and couldn’t feel her wetness, for once.
I was feeling the tingling in the head of my cock. I was holding it back. I held it back longer than I held it back with any other girl that time.
Why did I hold back for so long?
Because Brie was in charge of the situation and not me?
I don’t know, I don’t know, I’ll never know.
We lay side by side afterwards. She kissed me for a long time. I moved my tongue around her lips. Normally, there’d be some anticipation for the almost inevitable “you taste like someone else,” comment, or look in the eyes that told me as much. But in the three weeks we’d been “together” I’d been exclusive with Brie so far. Seemed like enough time for the taste of those rando’s vaginas from Florida to wear off. I hadn’t fucked anybody other than Brie in almost the same time.
So she made no such comment. My lips were pure.
We finished kissing and looked into each other’s eyes. Both our eyes were blue. My eyes were a cold and hard blue. Whenever I looked at somebody, it was a really intense experience for them. Sometimes too intense. Brie’s eyes were also blue. She was intense, too.
“If there’d been a heart rate monitor in front of you just now, it would have been showing some pretty cray shit,” I said. Brie smiled.
“Seismographic waveforms…” I trailed off.
“Fuck that, we would have just broken it,” Brie said. It would have electrocuted the whole bed and we’d die in a blaze of electrocution.”
“Somebody call Michael Bay,” I said.
Brie chuckled. She kissed me again.
She sat up straight on the bed and grabbed a tissue from my desk (I’m not so ungentlemanly that I don’t usually get the tissue for whoever I just fucked, but right then I was just tired and Brie was a big girl). She dabbed at her groin with the tissue and got back in to her slip. I found the energy to roll off the condom and wrap it in a couple tissues. I tossed it at the wastebasket and missed. The tissue landed by the window. I opened the shades and opened the window and flicked it out. I closed the window and closed the shades.
I turned back and saw Brie shaking her head at my lack of eco-friendliness.
When we were both fully dressed, we looked at each other again, smiling and she raised her arms in a partial shrug. We really didn’t know what bahis firmaları to say. What can you say?
“I guess I’ll see you soon?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Call me or something.”
“Why don’t you give me a call?”
A pause.
“Why don’t you take the Carly Rae Jepsen route and just assume ‘maybe’?”
She wanted to smile but her expression was not quite that.
“Bye Dennis.” She walked out the door, adjusting the hem of well-ironed her deep blue shirt as it shut.
My video business was booming. I’d made thirty-five different videos since September and they had all sold. All but one. I had made about six thousand dollars. And my cock wasn’t even perpetually sore yet. Neither was my tongue. That’s the great part about being young and full of life.
In my free time, I was an art gangster. I hung out with a few other dudes who did graffiti and we went around campus at night with spray cans, spraying designs on the sides of buildings and in the classrooms of the teachers we hated. Then a campus cop saw us walking around and one guy, I think Jim (dumbshit), was holding his spray can in plain view. The cop said, “Hey! What are you kids up to?”
I remember saying, “Fuck, let’s run.” And we did and the fat cop hardly bothered to chase us. He yelled some shit and I heard him running, but then he stopped and I heard the crackle of his radio. He said something about five kids, holding a can of something, etcetera. Nobody came after us, and we all dispersed at the top of Crest Hill and ran back to our dorms. From that point on, we A) tooled on Jim a lot and B) stuck to spraying places downtown, like at the abandoned train tracks under the Orono bridge, and the vacant lot at Sidberry Street. What a name, Sidberry. I picture a sleazy guy named Sid with tattoos and sunglasses smoking a cigarette, dropping trow and jerking off to a porno with no sound. But the sleaziest people down there were us, and we smoked joints and downloaded free bukake videos as god intended.
I got laid the most of any of us. The other guys were either virgins or had gotten it maybe just a couple times. Stevie was once bragging about getting head the previous week, and I showed him the video of Janis and he stopped bragging. Nate once asked me if Brie had any hot friends. I was surprised, because I didn’t even remember telling them about Brie. They knew about Janis, they knew about Sarissa, they knew about the stripper back home, they knew about my bio teacher senior year. They knew I didn’t like rubbers and told me I was going to end up a dad if I wasn’t careful. I told them I didn’t give a shit, good luck getting child support from me. Amongst all this stuff, something must have slipped about Brie.
Brie and I would smoke weed and talk about painting and music. Things that we actually had in common. I think she mostly stayed with me because of the sex, which was the same reason I stayed with her (who woulda thunk it?). But sometimes she behaved like an actual girlfriend. Sometimes, I even treated her like one. One evening when we sat on the bench outside the library, after checking out a couple books on Rembrandt that she needed to help her study. She sat on one of my legs and nestled her head against mine. Her other leg hung loosely down the side of the bench and I noticed a tear in her jeans. I put my hand on it and rubbed that spot. I looked out over the campus and saw a number of other girls walking around. Most of them I could probably fuck if I really wanted to. One of them, off in the distance, I almost had, a few months before. But I didn’t care at that moment. I was glad to be with this artsy, intellectual, slim, dark-haired young woman in my lap.
One evening, about a month into our ‘togetherness’ (or something), I made my way through the crusty snow down to the painting studio where Brie’s teacher, who loved every piece of art she created and also probably jerked off to thoughts of her amongst his pitiful non-tenure pay stubs each night, allowed her work whenever she wanted. I opened the doors. They were unlocked completely. I entered the studio.
There she was, all alone, in the center of the room, at work on an oil painting. Her smock was stained with reds and yellows. The painting she worked on depicted a woman dressed in black Catwoman meets Xenia, Warrior Princess attire, somersaulting through the starry sky and punching some large ogre in the stomach. Stars spun above the ogre’s head. I crept forward, not making a single sound. I put my arms around her waist.
Brie jumped. She almost dropped the brush. She made a noise. She turned around and saw me.
“Dennis, Dennis…” she said, taking my hand. “You’re such a creeper.”
“You love it,” I said. I kissed her cheek.
We both stared ahead at the painting.
“Yuck, what a bunch of pretentious bullshit…” I said.
Brie dabbed the paintbrush on my forehead.
We went back from the studio to her room and got busy. Brie didn’t have any roommates. Neither did I; not since I’d kaçak iddaa been kicked out of the last place. It was easy for us.
It was very dark in her room and the shades were down. I was on top of her, doing my technique where I moved slowly and caressed her body up and down with each rhythm. She lay there with her eyes widening in anticipation. I gradually sped up until the mattress began to creak. It creaked with each stroke of my cock and Brie made gaspy inhales and exhales with each creak. My favorite kind of music. I was the composer.
By the time it turned in to raw, visceral, panting, thwapping, bed-squeaking sex, Brie’s lips were curled up. She showed her very white teeth and panted through them. She shut her eyes and opened them again. Her expression changed a few times in less than a minute; she went from near anger at the quickness of my cock, to disbelief, to surrender. When she arrived at this last expression, my balls were making slapping sounds. She craned her neck back and shut her eyes. The noise she made was a fast paced version of the noise a woman makes when she’s beginning to laugh at your inappropriate jokes. I grunted. Pretty sure all I do is grunt.
I was young. I had stamina. I had fucked harder than this before and I knew I could now.
I stroked faster, rougher, letting my cock swim around her for a moment before pulling back each time. The bed scraped against the floor. What the fuck? It was actually moving forward. I was fucking Brie, and her bed. I smiled to myself (to myself because Brie had chosen to close her eyes by this point). I wondered if the bed liked it as much as Brie. It scraped again, louder, and further forward and Brie made louder, higher noises.
Brie balled a chunk of my hair up in her hand and said, between broken breaths, “Dennis… I’m cumming.”
Okay, Brie liked it just a little better than the bed.
She did a full body jerk to her right and the bed groaned against the floor again. Brie’s mouth was open in suspended animation; she’d entered a new dimension; I was holding off entering it myself. Her hand left my hair and yanked the edge of the mattress and I pressed one hand down on her mattress. I propped my body above hers like I was doing a one armed push-up. This allowed my groin to flex so my cock could move about ten times faster. It was an idea I’d gotten at the gym while doing push-ups.
Brie yelped. She yelped again, higher pitched. She yelped again, higher pitched still. You get the picture. In the midst of her crescendoed vocals I cupped one of her legs in my hand and pushed it forward to give myself more room. I trembled from holding myself up. I felt like if I got an aneurysm from fucking a girl this hard it would be totally worth it.
She exhaled, “Oh my God.”
Her breaths squeaked as she released them.
“Fuck,” she squeaked.
The bed scraped against the wall once more.
She ripped the bed sheet off the mattress and flung her arm up against my ass. Her nails dug into my ass cheek.
She had a muscle spasm; her leg jerked forward. I had a muscle spasm; my arm surrendered.
I collapsed. Eyes closed, my head pressed down on her pillow. Unlike Brie—unlike any of my girls—I did like to open my eyes mid-orgasm. I needed to survey things. My vision was cracked my vision like a movie screen breaking down before soft blackness. My orgasm was just going on and on.
Her exhales were long and loud and sounded like she said ‘Ag’ over and over. She squeezed me twice with her arms and legs and her nails curled against my spine. It was only then that I made out her actual words,
“Again…Dennis…again…ag-“
I’d already sped up again. Hummingbird wing-speed. I raised my head and looked into her face but everything was a blur. My own eyes were squinted and Brie’s mouth was just open. Wide, wider, widest. Moan, moaner, meanest.
I hoped, in that moment, that we just wouldn’t stop.
The next morning, I walked back to my dorm and thought of what an appropriate title might be for my memoirs. “How to Fuck” would be a good one, I felt. If this video making thing all went to shit sometime soon, then I could surely dash out a few hundred pages for this memoir and get a book deal and sooner or later be fucking Courtney Love in a bathroom stall at a Hollywood party. My thoughts on this were interrupted when I arrived at my room and found a note on the door:
MEET US AT THE BACK OF STORM AT 5:30.
WE KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE CLASS THEN.
WE KNOW YOU WON’T REGRET IT.
I read it several times. I had no clue what it meant. I’m not usually surprised by anything; a youth like mine leaves no surprises.
But this I was not expecting. Nonetheless, after the third read, I knew I’d better do as it said.
Three hours and two classes later, there I was, at the back of Storm Hall. I didn’t see anybody. I don’t usually smoke, but whoever they were, they were running late. I felt shivery, somehow and the smell of nicotine both helped and made me kaçak bahis colder. Was I nervous? I don’t usually get this way. Only in my dreams. I try (and succeed) to not give a shit about the slightest thing on the outside, and as a catch 22 I have nightmares. This felt like one of my dreams.
Two dudes came up to me from the path behind the dumpster. They were carrying textbooks and wearing preppy sweaters. It was clear that they were testing me with those clothes. I knew they didn’t actually dress like that. I assumed I was passing their test. I felt like I’d seen them both before. One of the guys—the dark haired one—nodded at me, and kept ignoring me. For another few seconds.
“Dennis,” said the light haired dude.
“What’s up,” I dropped my cigarette and stepped on it.
“Trey,” he said. I shook his hand.
“Brent,” said the dark haired guy. He didn’t look like he was about to pull out a knife and stab me and I didn’t see anything bulging out of their pockets. I shook Brent’s hand.
There was a pause.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Brent. “We’ve heard stories about you.”
“The whole campus has heard stories about you,” said Trey.
“Like what kinds of stories?” I said it in a flat tone.
They saw right through me. Trey laughed. Brent snickered.
“That’s a good one, Dennis,” Trey said. “But we didn’t come here to test your bullshit skills.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I said in my flattest voice.
“Now let’s get real. Some people think you’re disgusting, a weirdo, a horrible person,” Brent said. “But we think you’re just one of us.”
“We want to induct you in to Alpha Alpha Sig Fi,” Trey said.
“The what?” I said it loudly.
“We’re a secret frat,” said Brent.
They brought me back to an apartment some ways off campus and showed me proof.
We watched one of my more recent videos in Brent’s crampy living room. It was the girl whose name I didn’t remember. We were silent for the whole thing. Trey sipped a coffee. Brent sipped a Budweiser. I sipped nothing.
When the video finished, Trey turned to Brent and I with his eyebrows raised.
“I mean, not bad for a complete buffoon who can’t operate a camera,” he said.
“I dunno,” Brent burped. “It was so-so. Cock ring slipped off a little towards the end there.”
“True,” Trey nodded. “You should really cut out that shaky, jittery shit when you finally take the phone away from her face. We can’t see what’s happening, but we know nothing’s happening…”
I got to my feet.
“Okay. You assholes,” I said, looking at them both. “First of all, I did edit out that part. Also color corrected it. The finished product—”
“Finished product!” Brent cried and laughed. His laugh was more of a shriek. Trey snickered with him.
“—Is available on multiple sites already. And secondly…”
I didn’t want to sound the way I was about to sound. I’m the one who confounds. People don’t confound me.
And yet, here were these two smirking bros in a dim living room who had done just that. I took a breath.
“…how the fuck did you get your hands on this? How did you even…”
They were highly amused. I wanted to punch both their faces off.
“We have our methods, Dennis,” said Trey. “You’ll come to know them someday. Someday, after you’ve been inducted in to Alpha Alpha Sig Fi and have been a seasoned member for, say, a year.”
“Now, granted, we think it’s fucked up that you’re a freshman,” said Brent, holding his hand in the air. “I’ve never met a freshman who fucks so many bitches.”
“Especially not these days, at this college…” Trey continued. It was almost like they were one mind. “Most freshman come in here and act like they’re babies who lost their pacifiers. They all become SJWs out of total fear of their own instincts and potential.”
“They cry. Over everything,” said Brent.
“You’re not like that,” said Trey.
I was not.
“If you join us,” Trey continued. “You can take this cell phone warrior hobby of yours to a new level. We will get you video equipment. We will get you sound gear. You will make better quality, and therefore hotter, videos, and sell them through our platform, along with the not-dissimilar work that the rest of us do.”
“No,” I said, waving my hand. “Absolutely not. I’m making enough on my own, thank you. I don’t need you dickwads poking your hands into my pockets, especially since you will have probably just jerked off. See you later,”
I turned to go. Trey and Brent burst into laughter behind me.
“You see?” said Trey. “He’s got a sense of humor, too! I told you so, Brent.”
I stopped. Something compelled me to. I faced the door.
“You won’t have to worry about money, Dennis,” Brent said. “Quite the opposite. The websites you sell through are ripping you off, anyway. We have a profit sharing system that allow each individual member to profit at least three times as much as what you’re making right now, and with quicker delivery, too.”
“Also, you know, no more asking for payment in cash like a perpetually stoned drug dealer,” said Trey. “Bitcoin is how we roll.”
I turned around. I faced Trey and Brent again. They knew I would.
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