Below is an old post from my previous blog. It’s a silly little thing which I’ve tried to leave in its original form (no editing or rewriting) but I thought it worth carrying across for old times sake.
“Your spunk’s kinda watery today”
I looked at Cheryl and laughed. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t what she’d said that made me do it, but the way she’d said it. It was so plain and matter-of-fact that she might have been commenting on the quality of fruit juice she’d had for breakfast and not the load of cum I’d shot on her face a few minutes earlier. It was surprising. It was honest. It was refreshing.
We’d been fucking for about 6 weeks by then, introduced to one another at a party while she was getting a drink and I was trapped in a pantry. I was 19 and a student, so being stuck in a cupboard wasn’t perhaps the strangest thing I could have been doing, but it probably still tops the list of odd places I’ve ever been when meeting a girl for the first time.
Yet despite that slightly weird beginning – and the fact that she was 4 years older than me – we hit it off immediately. She was beautiful, interesting and, best of all, funny. To her, meeting a guy surrounded by tins of beans and bags of pasta was no big deal and after an awkward handshake we spent the rest of the night talking. Everything just fell into place and when the end of the evening came, numbers were exchanged, kisses passed, and an expectation set that we’d meet up the following week.
But we never did.
Not for lack of trying. I called several times, but got no response and eventually decided to let it go. It was a shame, but sometimes that’s just the way it is. You win some, you lose most. Then, about 3 weeks later, I got a text asking: “Want to hook up?” No prizes for guessing my answer.
So here we were, 6 weeks later, at the end of another hard fuck. It had settled into a routine fairly quickly with the occasional SOS emergency shag text sent in desperate situations. This had been one of them, allowing me to avoid another night story boarding and instead fuck someone I was incredibly attracted to.
It wasn’t all glamorous, porn-star sex, of course; I’d been on top with her legs raised and wrapped around me but, in our urgency to fuck, we’d struggled to remove her underwear completely and her panties dangled from one ankle, twitching every time I pushed – something which had led to fit of mid-thrust giggles until we both realised we didn’t care and got back down to business. She liked to feel the intensity grow, like I was slowly turning up a dial during sex, and by the time we noticed those cute white panties waving back and forth like a flag of surrender we were entering the hard, rough stage which was usually accompanied by plenty of grunting, gripping and gasping. The panties could fucking wait.
It was getting close to the end, I could feel myself tightening, but rather than finishing inside her as I usually liked to do, I pulled out and grabbed her shoulder. At first she looked at me with confusion and disappointment, then when she felt my fingers grip her, she broke into a wide smile. She’d commented that I hadn’t cum on her face for a while at the end of a previous session and seeing the look on her face as I prepared to do it again was delicious.
I knelt up at the same time as I pushed her down. The condom was off in flash, leaving me to wank over her with my left hand while my right held her in place. She smiled at me, licked her lips and opened her mouth. To my young, sex-hungry mind, that was the most erotic thing I had ever seen in my life. If I hadn’t already been close to orgasm that moment alone would have sent me over the edge. I groaned, pulled her forwards, and blew my load, making sure to spurt over her eyes, cheeks and chin. It came out with such force that she twitched and winced with every shot and it felt incredible.
It took about four or five shots before I was done, and after that I collapsed onto the bed beside her. My head was spinning and my wet cock throbbed. I was unable to think of anything other than how fucking hot that had been, and yet, even though she’d been clearly loving every second, she’d still managed to take note of my consistency. And that practical (yet absurd fact) made me laugh.
“Its not a bad thing,” she went on. “I just noticed it wasn’t as thick as last time.” Again, her tone was completely sincere and I realised I found her level of honesty quite comforting.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I replied. “Did it taste OK?”
“Same as always. Just runnier.”
It took a second to process, then I said “I’ve drunk loads of water today, maybe that’s it.”
“Was it better or worse than usual?” I asked, not quite able to believe we were discussing this.
She shrugged. “It was fine, just different.”
It was a strange conversation when I think about it now, but it was also eye-opening and sexy in a strange way. I was still young and inexperienced and while the chance to have regular sex with a gorgeous woman was already a huge plus, being able to learn from her was even better. We enjoyed ourselves, and then we analysed.
We began discussing all the different aspects of sex – what worked, what didn’t and why. We learned that the shallow friction of my cock rubbing against the front of her pussy made her cum far quicker than if I penetrated too deeply, and that a firm grip on my cock with no twisting made for a better wank than a loose, sloppy one. We even experimented with how our diets affected our moods, cravings and taste. It was like the world’s best – and sexiest – experiment.
Of course, our relationship eventually came to an end. We both knew it was unlikely to be anything more than sex and we parted on good terms, but that didn’t make our time together any less fantastic. She taught me a lot and gave me a thirst for exploration. I might not approach it in quite the same clinical way, but I still love to learn what works and what doesn’t, I like adapting my techniques to give the most pleasure and it all came from Cheryl and her wonderful, completely open, honesty.
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