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When I started my first job after college, I moved to New York, sharing an apartment with Hester, who had just graduated from Sarah Lawrence. I had gone to a smaller women’s college. It wasn’t too conservative, but not as liberal as I had heard Sarah Lawrence was. We slept on the twin beds in the bedroom. In the living/dining room, there was a sofa bed and two armchairs, coffee table and small square table with four chairs. The bathroom and kitchen were small, of course, but a real kitchen with a door.
We started our jobs and met our new colleagues, also trainees, going out for drinks after work, then groups forming and having cocktail parties in someone’s flat. I didn’t meet Hester’s new colleagues until we agreed that it was our turn to have a party. With both our groups, the flat was crowded, overflowing the living room into our bedroom, not that anything untoward happened there, just more space for people to move around. We had provided plenty to drink, inviting people to help themselves in the kitchen.
They did, the men, usually with a second glass for whomever they were talking to. I found myself talking to men from Hester’s crowd, and was a little surprised that men from mine seemed to be talking more with her. I was surprised, since she had mentioned that she found a couple of them more attractive, even the one who was talking to me. He still was later in the evening, after getting me a couple of more drinks. When I had to go to the bathroom, it was obvious that many other also had — a couple of the men not too carefully. I wiped up and returned, finding some else waiting use the toilet, also finding that Bob — that was his name — was waiting to hand me another drink.
We drank, and I ventured to say, hopefully not slurring my words: “I thought you would be talking more with Hester.”
He shrugged with a slight snort and nodded for us to move in a corner. When we had, he chuckled softly and replied: “Maybe, but the man in charge of trainees told the men ‘not to dip our pens in the company ink.'”
We both smirked. I wasn’t so high that I didn’t understand the inference, nor to appreciate that maybe he could have been thinking about sleeping with Hester, and also — if he had told me that — that he wanted me to know that he thought about that. Was he thinking about that with me too?
I wasn’t a virgin; I could, and maybe in the Big Apple things moved faster than they had in my college.
When he saw that I had smirked, he glanced over at Hester and whispered: “Maybe the guy in charge of trainees in your company said the same thing.”
I shrugged with wry smile, and we talked about other things, until people began to leave. He offered to help clean up, as did my colleague, Jim, who had been talking with Hester. The four of us cleaned up. When we had finished, we emptied the little that was still in a whiskey bottle in glasses and had a final drink.
At the door, which one of us four pursed his or her lips? We kissed, then embraced. I was kissing Bob better than any first kiss I could remember, and it sounded like Hester and Jim were. Was that how it was in The Big Apple? As they were leaving, we all chuckled with grins, and then they were gone, Hester and I looking at each other with another grin. Was that what girls did in the Big City, French kiss with a guy whom they had just met?
In our beds that night, we did what we often had, but till then as surreptitiously as we could. We knew that the other one was masturbating, but we never mentioned it. This time we lost our reserve – the successful party, the alcohol, and just having kissed men that way. When we heard each other moan, we chuckled. I wondered if Hester was using both hands to arouse her pussy. I just had one hand there, as usual, but the other one was pinching and twisting my stiff nipples. I came, much better than since we had been sharing the room, but not as vocally as Hester did. When she had, she exclaimed softly: “Fuck, that was good; hope it was for you too.”
I was a little shocked that she had said that. I had enjoyed that we could be more open about what we knew we both did, but I hadn’t expected she would say anything. I agreed:
“Better than since we’ve been here.”
“Yeah, for me too; not a couple of times, when you were out in the evening.”
“Hmm?! You’re worse than me; have to remember that next time you’re out.”
“Don’t need to now,”Hester replied with a chuckle, adding: “even better, hearing you moaning.”
“I guess so,” I agreed, and we chuckled and said good night.
I fell asleep wondering if that was how it was in dorms at Sarah Lawrence; it hadn’t been in my college. In the morning, both a little hungover, we smirked at each other.
During the following weekday nights — not all of them — that happened again, completely sober.
Bob and Jim had called and invited each of us out for dinner. After our first drunken kisses, of course, quickly one thing led to another, and we slept with them, not both the escort bahçelievler same night the first time, because Bob shared a flat with another guy, but Jim had his own flat, so when Hester didn’t come home their first night together, she promised that she wouldn’t the next weekend. Bob and I could use our flat.
We had our date. Bob was a little surprised, when I said that we could go back to our flat. I was also a little surprised at myself, inviting him to our flat; I sure wouldn’t have done that a couple of months before. When he looked at me with a quizzical expression, I was even more direct, telling that Hester was spending the night with Jim.
“If you want to,” he replied with nice smile and held my hand.
We clutched hands and walked to our building. When we were in our flat, then it was funny. Of course, we both knew what we wanted to do, but till then we had only kissed with his hand on my breast. New York wasn’t like on my college campus, where we had been able to do more in the dark behind bushes: his hand inside my blouse and then inside my bra, and — next date – inside the waistband of my skirt, an elastic one. We couldn’t do that on a New York street; we didn’t need to.
How were Bob and I going to start? In the flat, he also didn’t seem to know how, which I liked, but that didn’t help. Then he opened his jacket. I nodded with a smile and told him to make himself comfortable and fix us a drink while I went to the bathroom. He nodded with a mild grin, beginning to take off his jacket, but then reaching first in a side pocket — for rubbers?
Was he just a good Boy Scout and always had them, or had he been anticipating the evening could end this way? I went to the bathroom, thinking to wet my washcloth before I sat down and went, then wiping my pussy with the washcloth, my panties around my ankles. Dry it? I wrung the washcloth out between my thighs and wiped again, hoping my panties wouldn’t be too wet. While I pulled them back up, it occurred to me to put my pills where he could see them, then to leave my shoes in the bathroom.
I returned to find that he had taken off his jacket and also his tie. He had found the opened bottle of wine and handed me my glass. I noticed that he had seen my bare feet. We raised our glasses and had a sip. Then he excused himself to use the bathroom. When he returned, now also barefoot, we both chuckled softly and had a better sip, before we sat down on the sofa with his arm around my shoulders.
It was too obvious what we both knew we were going to do, but started conventionally, kissing, but then our hands didn’t hesitate to find skin. His slid unerringly up inside my sweater and onto my bra — my lightest one, that let his fingers feel my aroused nipple. When my hand unbuttoned his shirt, his pushed my bra up. His fingers knew what to do with my nipple, the other one too, when mine found his. We chuckled, as our tongues caressed.
Big City Girl now, I slid my hand down and found the bulge in his pants. He nodded with an encouraging hum. Back in college, I had let the guys take all the initiative. Now my hand helped his cock move around so that I could grasp it. It wasn’t going to matter if my panties were moist, they were now from my aroused pussy.
In college, we had always been in his room with his bed so near that it was the only place to continue, his suggesting we lie down. Now I had to, after a moment suggesting that we go somewhere else. “Somewhere” was obvious, my bed in the bedroom. He nodded with a moaning, and we did, leaving our wine glasses on the coffee table.
As I was stripping off my sweater in the bedroom with just the light from the living room, it occurred to me that this would be the first time I would sleep all night with a man. Bob was taking off his trousers. When I tossed my sweater on Hester’s bed, he understood that the other one was mine and also put his clothes on it. This wasn’t being very romantic or arousing; his cock was below the horizontal, but when he looked at my bare nipples, they tightened, and his cock rose a notch.
As I flung back the covers on my bed, he asked:
“And Hester is not coming back tonight.”
“She’d better not!” I replied, and we both smirked and lay down.
What was it going to be like all night in bed with him? Once in college, we had fucked twice, and another time — another guy — one of us had turned around and we then also had licked and sucked. It hadn’t tasted good, but I could do that, if Bob wanted me to. Or would he want to fuck again, and then again, later in the night, or before we got up in the morning?
His stiffening cock was in my hand, and he was sucking my nipples, then rolling on me. I hadn’t done it before, but now I guided his cock to my wet, aroused pussy. He fucked, holding my shoulders, and my thighs drew up, and I met his thrusts, rocking my hips up. We fucked! He came, but unlike the college boys, he just grunted and groaned and continued to fuck escort balgat until I came. He must have had more experience at his coed college than the guys in the men’s college near mine.
When we had recovered, he asked softly:
“Is Hester really going to be away all night?”
“She was last weekend and said so.”
“Could have told you last weekend.”
“I don’t think she knew beforehand that she would be,” I replied, then adding:
“If she can, you can — we can — if you want to?”
“Of course!” he replied and hugged me. Then he chuckled and remarked:
“Never have before — all night. My flatmate will wish I had told him.”
We both chuckled, and I said: “I haven’t either, but I want to, want you to.”
We both moaned, embracing and our thighs drew up between each other’s. We kissed, at first in confirmation of our agreement and then like on the sofa, our tongues suggesting that we both wanted to do more. My thighs had let his draw up in my crotch, and I rocked my hips, wanting to feel it rub on my pussy. It did, and I suddenly felt moisture between us; my pussy was leaking, not just moist from being aroused again. Before I could wonder if he felt it, he moaned and murmured:
“I want to do something else.”
I wanted him to, assuming that he meant that he wanted to lick my pussy, but what could I say, should I say?
“I do too,” I heard myself murmur, realizing that I had never told anyone that I wanted him to do anything, and no one had told me he wanted to do “something else.” Was that what I was suggesting, telling him? It wouldn’t be the first time, but I had never said that, admitted that I wanted to do “something else”! I still wasn’t sure that I did, but if his cock was twitching in front of my mouth, wanting me to, …
He moaned again and began to turn around. I had to say something to warn him:
“We just did, uh, you know?”
“Um-hmm. If you want to, I can.”
He assumed that I wanted to, and all the way. Did he mean that he knew he would taste what I was going to, when he came in my mouth? I had said that I wanted to, so I guess I did, to taste it too. We were getting comfortable that way, legs under heads, his not quite fully aroused cock in front of my face. I licked it, tasting a trace of his orgasm in my pussy. He was going to get a much better taste. My lips slipped around his cock, and I tasted more, but I wanted to now. His tongue lapped the length of my pussy lips, and he chuckled and murmured: “You were right.”
He had understood, but it wasn’t bothering him, his tongue licking between my pussy lips, finding my leaking hole. He just moaned, and then moaned in response to my caressing his cock with my tongue. I had been right; I had wanted to, and I had already tasted him. I was already looking forward to the sensation of feeling it shoot in my mouth, the satisfaction of knowing I had made him come so good.
I had to wait for that, sucking and licking his nice cock, making it twitch, while my pussy enjoyed what he was doing. Having my pussy eaten had always been good, of course, but Bob’s tongue knew more about a girl’s intimate anatomy, what it wanted and where. The first couple of boys in college had thought it was all just about trying to fuck my vagina with their tongues. That had been effectively arousing enough, but now I realized that I had been so aroused because they were wanting to do that. Then one had known about my clitoris — probably about a couple of others — but it hadn’t been as good as what Bob was doing. I forgot my past — had to — and concentrated on trying to arouse him as good. I had a last brief thought that if he did it so good, girls with more experience had sucked his cock. I didn’t know what else they could have done, just tried to do everything I could, wanting to feel it shoot in my mouth.
It did, to my delight, but not before my orgasm made me forget about sucking and licking for a few moments, while I could only gasp and moan, as my hips twitched and my thighs quivered. Then his twitching cock reminded me to continue. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, and did. His hips began to slowly rock, his cock fucking in my grasp and in my mouth. He was moaning. If he had intentionally been rocking his hips, now he lost control of them, groaning, as they rocked faster, like they had just before he had come in my pussy.
He grunted and came in my mouth: once, twice, and a couple of times more! My mouth was full of it, like I had wanted, and I was enjoying tasting it. He gasped and murmured: “God, that was good!”
I nodded, agreeing that I thought so too, then nodded again, remembering that he had done it so good for me. I couldn’t’ tell him that, however, since I was still enjoying that his cock was in my mouth and that I could slosh the creamy liquid around it. Then it was less creamy, and I swallowed and drew my head back, closing my lips around the head of his cock as it slipped from between them. I swallowed escort batıkent again and murmured:
“What you did too.”
“Loved it,” he replied and began to turn around.
I was surprised when he wanted to kiss me again, but his tongue seemed to want to find traces of his cum. Then we had to go to the bathroom again, smiling as we saw each other naked in the light for the first time. I hadn’t done that before, nor watched a guy use the toilet or have one see me sitting on it. Big City Girl now, I thought, watching him turn to the washbasin and washed his cock and face. I told him which towel was mine and stood up and flushed and got my washcloth and washed. He handed me my towel, and I dried my pussy, hoping I was looking nonchalant with him smiling at me.
We returned to the bed and lay down, embracing. I wondered if we were going to sleep that way, but then he suggested that I roll over, and he curled up behind me, holding my breast. He murmured:
“Never spent all night, but have slept a couple of times, until the alarm clock went off.”
We both chuckled, and I held his hand and said good night. He squeezed my breast and replied, and we fell asleep — before I could finish wondering about what I was doing: Big City Girl now.
We woke up a couple of times during the night. The first time, I was very surprised to be lying in bed with someone — a man, of course, remembering that he was Bob. On the single bed, we had to move around to lie on our other sides, quickly falling asleep again with my arm around him. When we moved again, it was all familiar, comfortably rolling over again, his hand back on my breast.
When I woke up in the early light through the window, his hand had slipped off my breast. I wondered what a couple did or said after a night in bed together — just “good morning”? I must have move slightly, his hand did, finding my breast again, and then he murmured:
“Good morning,” saying my name.
“Good morning, Bob,” I replied, pleased that he didn’t have to hesitate to remember whom he was in bed with, and held his hand again.
He squeezed my breast, and mine instinctively held his hand. Then I felt his cock twitch against my hips. He snorted softly and murmured:
“That wasn’t supposed to happen, justly usually like that in the morning, if I have to go.”
“You do?” I asked, appreciating learning the new reason why a man could have an erection.
“No, just waking up like this with you. Do you?”
“No, we went last night.”
“Too early to get up.”
“Um-hmm,” I agreed, wondering if his cock or remark suggested anything.
I had never felt a cock twitch against my ass, but I could only think of one thing it could want to do, now that we had eliminated his having to go to the bathroom. If he had said that it was too early to get up, should we do something else? Why had we spent the whole night together, if we didn’t want to? I held his hand and repeated what he had said: “Too early to get up.”
His fingers moved, finding my nipple. Did he arouse it, or had it stiffened before his fingers found it? He moaned with a soft chuckle, and his fingers were arousing it, and his cock twitched again.
“If it’s too early to get up?” he murmured.
“If your fingers keep doing that?”
They did, and we both moaned softly, and his cock twitched again, and my fingers encouraged his. We both chuckled softly. I felt my pussy go moist. He moaned and murmured:
“Told you what I love to do.”
“And you?” I asked, very willing to suck his cock again, but he replied:
“You first, and then …”
I moaned and began to roll back against him. He let me, but when I was facing him, his hand grasped my ass, urging me to roll on top of him, getting back in the middle of the bed, and then both his hands were holding my hips and urging me to move up over him. Did he want my pussy up over his face? He did, his hands helping me move, as my knees drew up. If that is what he wanted, my pussy wanted him to. It felt like it could be dripping, as my knees slid up past his head. He moaned, and his hands drew my hips down, and his tongue found my already aroused pussy.
I moaned. No one had ever wanted to do it like this, but he sure did! But what about his “and then”? Did he want me then to suck his cock? I willingly would, but first, let him lick my pussy.
He did. I didn’t know my pelvis could twitch on his mouth like it did, my hips’ not resting on the bed. I had my own experience tasting and liking my pussy juice and could appreciate that he also did, when my pussy let him lap up as much as his tongue could find.
Then my question: his “and then”? I began to crawl back down over him, about to get my knees between his legs, moaning at feeling his stiff cock brush between my pussy lips. How could I want to feel it between them, after he had just made me come so good? Before I could raise my knee over his leg, his hand grasped my hip, stopping my move, and his other hand grasped his cock and directed it at my pussy.
Of course, he now wanted to fuck, but did my pussy want to, after the so good orgasm? When the head of his cock found my still aroused and wet vagina and probed, my hips sank down on it. He moaned, and I moaned; my pussy did want it!
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