[This -- as in all my work -- takes place in a world where the safe sex we need to practice nowadays isn't necessary. Please don't indulge in casual, unprotected sex -- as arousing as stories about it may be.]
I suppose I could be lazy and blame it on the virus and the subsequent lockdown, but the truth is, it was bound to happen anyway. At least now, after the fact, it's pretty obvious to me. But if you had asked me a year ago, I would have gotten offended and never spoken to you again. Life turns on a dime, I guess.
My name is Maria Salvez. I'm 39 and I've been a widow for almost 5 years now. I grew up in the New Jersey suburbs. Life in my hometown wasn't really all that spectacular. I went through high school with 3 other girls (well, they were girls when we started and I'll probably always think of them that way even if we are all approaching 40 now) who've remained best buds since then. Andrea Waters, Karen Demoans, Beverly Trichtel and I were the four queens. Not exactly divas, but girls who knew what they wanted and were secure enough to not be bothered by rules and strictures. We partied. We smoked and drank. By the time we were entering college we had all lost all our virginities, and we all had shared those events intimately with one another. If it was permissible, I'd love to share about things we did in high school that make most of what you read on Literotica look like soft porn. But I'll stick to the rules -- sex never happens before age 18. You can use your imagination, okay?
We all went off to college and yet managed to stay in touch. It helped that Andrea and Beverly went off to room together at school in Maryland, and Karen and I did the same at Rutgers in New Brunswick. We all were big fans of Skype, and decided we'd always do a weekly call together to check in and compare notes with one another. We kept it on Monday nights so we could rehash the weekends. We went through everything together (hookups, "after-action reports," breakups, getting back to dating, engagements, weddings, divorces, children and more) and they were incredibly wonderful with me when Johnny died.
Since I brought it up I better speak to it. I met Johnny Athers in my junior year of college at a party. I fucked the shit out of him that night -- along with an unknown number of other guys, I have to say. I was at that "if it has a dick and gets hard around me, it must mean I'm loved" phase. In other words, I slutted through my last two years of college and became the boy toy of frat row. There's probably a whole generation of guys out there teaching their kids about sex based on the wild woman they encountered in college. Good for them!
Anyway, Johnny was one of many guys that night. I'm not ashamed of it. But he stood out, for a couple of reasons. The first one was his dick -- I'm not kidding! It wasn't the biggest one that night (a couple of Black dudes shared that honor) but it was simply memorable. I can't quite figure out what to say. It was bigger than average but not a giant. It was thicker than most, but not a beer can. The head of it was amazingly well-formed, and it was red and contrasted with the shaft. He was the hardest dick I ever encountered -- I couldn't bend it away from his body with both hands! And he used it better than any other dude. I remember that very well -- I still get wet thinking of it. When he put it into my mouth, he didn't make me do all the work or try to force himself down my throat. No, he made love to my mouth! Seriously! I've had all kinds (and a lot of them) and his cock and his handling of his cock stood out. He used it to make love to my mouth. Unless you've had that happen, you really can't understand it.
And given the nature of the night, my mouth wasn't his only insertion point. When he got his turn at my cunt, it was as if his dick was driving electrical energy into me! Hard and aching and tender at the same time, he got me off at least three times before he finally came in the mix of other guys' come -- and he stayed hard enough to pull out and take my ass with that magic stick. I came twice from him fucking my ass. In other words, this man was magic. You bet I remembered him. There were a lot of other guys that night, but when it was all done I made a point of finding out who he was and how to get hold of him again. I had to find out of that magic stick came with a magic man or a dumb clod.
That night changed things for me. I lost interest in getting gang fucked by frat boys who were usually too drunk and too dumb to be able to say something intelligent; who thought calling me names and smacking parts of my body was somehow a turn on for me -- or who just didn't care if I got anything in the deal, as long as they could imagine themselves as pseudo porn starts, emulating whatever they'd recently jerked off to. I realized I let that happen. They were just being guys, sticking their dicks in any available hole -- but I was the one offering up all my holes. Oh, don't get me wrong -- I got off a lot during those gang bangs, but I also had more than a few thoughts of regret during and after. Because I just let myself become three holes to use, not a woman to be loved and adored.
When I got that -- when I saw that little miss party slut, gang bang gal was just some poor substitute for wanting to be loved, I spent almost a day hunched over the toilet, sick to my stomach over what I had become. I didn't regret the sex -- I enjoyed it. What I didn't enjoy, I basically tolerated if it didn't disgust me. Except now I WAS disgusted with what had motivated me. I felt like I was breaking apart as all that came crashing into my head. And my girls? God bless them, they took turns with me. They held my head (literally - Karen was there immediately, followed a few hours later when Andrea and Beverly arrived from Maryland). They listened to my retching and my wailing and they cried with me. And they celebrated with me when I had finally got it all out of my system and could stand on two feet again. Out of that, Andrea and Beverly re-evaluated the frat boy party culture and joined it! Karen, for her part, swore off men -- which, as it turns out, was easy enough for her since she'd been a closet lesbian for years. As for me, I got very single minded and set about finding that guy with the amazing cock.
It took a week or so. First, I had to deal with the guys at the frat house. When I walked in at least four of them simply unzipped their pants and pulled out their cocks -- as if I was just there for them. Not unexpected, of course, since prior to that I would have been on my knees in a flash and covered in come within minutes. It took some doing to let them know they no longer had me available. I suppose someone should write a book on the different behaviors of guys trying to get off with a woman -- but I'll leave that to any reader who has the time or energy. Eventually, things got put away and I was able to talk to them. Had to ask about six different guys -- the first three had been too drunk that night to remember anything; the next two vaguely recalled other guys in other holes but the last one knew who I meant. He gave me Johnny's name and number, and I was out of there.
Then it took another couple of days before I'd worked up the nerve to call him. I ran through scenario after scenario in my head. "Hi," I imagined saying, "we weren't introduced properly, but you fucked me silly at the frat house and we need to talk" probably wasn't going to go over well. Nor was "I'm the girl everyone was fucking on Saturday..." I ran through lots of different things, but wasn't just getting crazier and crazier. Then the phone rang. My phone. Caller unknown. I answered it any way.
"Hi, it's Maria."
Then came this masculine voice that reminded me of dark chocolate, rum and cigars: "Oh, thank goodness you said your name! I didn't know it and couldn't figure out how to ask for it and I've thought of nothing but you since we met..." Then there was silence.
