Watching Together

WATCHING TOGETHER

#

I was pretty naive when I arrived at college.

I hadn't dated much during high school. I mean, sure, a friend and I had gone to prom together our senior year, and when she was driving me home after the dance, she gave a sly smile, turned into the local library's darkened parking lot, and glanced at me with this

look

in her eyes. Like,

we're usually just friends, but prom is special, so do you wanna make out?

Probably if either of us had thought it through, it would've gotten weird, but since we both just smiled and started kissing, it was great. Her lips were so soft, so warm! And when I asked if I could touch her leg -- till then I'd been running my hands up and down her back -- she murmured

mmm hmmm

, lifted the front of her long skirts, and parted her legs for me.

I slid my hand up along her thigh. The backs of my fingers even brushed against the warm swell of her satiny underwear.

That's as far as we went. Kissing -- open-mouthed kissing -- with our hands

so close

to feeling each other up.

For months afterward, I humped my mounded blankets at night, thinking of her. After prom, we'd gone back to being just friends, both of us part of the same set of off-kilter honors kids, but every so often we'd catch each other's eyes and she'd smile at me and my heart would skip a beat, thinking of the thin fabric she might be wearing beneath her jeans, and thinking of the mysterious parts of her just beyond. She played tennis, and, oh, the feel of her muscular inner thigh while her lips had been on my mouth! That sharp intake of breath she gave when my fingers inadvertently grazed the warmth between her legs!

I'd

wanted

to do more. As it happened, so did she.

I know, I know -- we were fools! Youth is wasted on the young! Eighteen years old, mutually aroused, and too nervous to just

ask

each other! All of that.

But how were we supposed to know better?

That's something parents should think about before choosing to raise kids in the American Midwest. I mean, come on! When we'd had "sex ed," the football coach wheeled a television into the classroom, popped a tape into the VCR, and played the music video for Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights." By the end of the video, Coach was sweating profusely. He turned on the lights, turned off the TV, and glared at us. Then he said, "Gotta be careful having sex because she might get pregnant, then you might get married, and then you'll hate your life."

Why bother discussing the mechanics

, he must have thought, when all the guys on his varsity team were already getting laid. But, Coach! What about us nerds! Some of

us

hadn't begun fooling around yet, and we could have used the advice!

Is it any wonder that my prom date and I didn't know what to do?

#

I'd like to give a big shout-out to college, here. Thank you, college! Thank you for giving me an

excellent

roommate freshman year! Thank you for quickly rectifying a

glaring

deficiency of my hometown education!

My parents had just dropped me off at my new dorm. We'd unloaded my things. I was still unpacking, putting my clothes into one of the dressers.

That's when my roommate arrived. His parents helped him lug his stuff up the stairs: clothes, computer, minifridge. Then his parents stood there a minute, doing that awkward

we lived together for nineteen years but now we're just supposed to leave you here??

stare, before my new roommate said "I love you" to both of them. He gave his mom and dad a hug then shooed them out the door.

"Drive safe," he called after them.

Isn't life weird? Suddenly it's the college student telling his parents to drive safe.

Then he turned to me. We stood there, sizing each other up -- my roommate was a wiry kid named Allen and an altogether good human being -- until he said, "We drove by a sex shop on our way to campus. Just outside the gates."

Another moment passed.

I grabbed my wallet and then the two of us were off.

#

We arrived at the shop and, oh my!

To anybody reading this story on a computer or a phone, maybe this doesn't seem like such a big deal. All manner of photographs and videos are within such easy reach. Type a few words into your search bar and the cloud-based Google elves will cater to your every whim!

What do you wish to see? Ah, yes, good, good!

But I'd spent the summer secreting underwear catalogs from the mail. Re-reading sex scenes in science fiction novels. Thinking about my prom date's soft inner thigh, the feel of her filmy underwear against the backs of my fingers -- oh, and concocting impossibly trite stories about her while masturbating at night.

Obviously pornography was going to be a revelation for me.

#

When Allen and I reached the sex shop, I was so ready to flaunt my ID --

look at me, I'm in college and I'm an ADULT --

but the guy behind the counter didn't even ask. So Allen and I just walked in and began to look around.

The shop sold vibrators and dildos in all sorts of sizes, shapes, and colors. (I didn't know yet that people rarely look at them in the moment, so I wound up with the strange misconception that a whole lot of people secretly wished they were having sex with aliens.

A PURPLE phallus with three strange knobby projections??

) There was edible underwear (totally a waste of money if you're just going to sit and eat it with your roommate -- the worst fruit rollup ever!). And a whole

wall

of videos and magazines.

Given that the only VCR we had access to was in the dormitory lounge, we couldn't rent the videos. But that was okay, because the magazines were great.

Or, okay. Not

so

great. They were all sealed up in plastic, and they were expensive, and there was never even any guarantee that the stuff inside would resemble what was on the cover. But, still! Most of them showed

naked people having sex!

On that first day, Allen and I each bought a magazine. And then we walked back to the dorm, chatting, doing the whole

get to know you

thing, while clutching our (opaque!) paper bags. Until we got back to our room, that is. Then, silence. We each slid our magazines from their thin plastic sheaths, looked inside, and, well: I'm not sure about Allen, but I

I

gasped.

Those images were

very different

from pictures of underwear models in the J.C. Penney's catalog!

Before long, I must have been sweating. Flipping through in wide-eyed wonder. Trying not to get

too

aroused. And failing -- my face flushed, my whole skin was tingling.

So I cleared my throat and said, "Um, I'm going for a walk. I'll go down to the student center, maybe, and pick up my registration packet. Maybe scope out the campus some. Look for the library. I'll be gone for like an hour."

Allen looked up at me, sheepish and grateful.

#

When I got back to the dorm, our room smelled strongly of cologne. Allen must have used a few spritzes afterward. He looked calmer, and happy.

"I'm going for a walk now, too," he told me. "An hour?"

I nodded. "At least."

He laughed. "Maybe I'll check out the gym," he said. And then, after he'd laced up his sneakers and was walking out the door, he turned back to say, "We picked out good magazines."

#

Allen was right. I

thoroughly

enjoyed my time in the room alone.

In my fantasies before, when I'd touch myself or pump my hips into the mounded blankets on my bed, I hadn't really imagined being

inside

someone. I didn't know enough to understand the ways that someone's body beneath mine would feel different from a bunch of blankets! At the time, I just wanted a soft surface to rub up against. And then I'd come.

But those magazines showed it all.

I especially loved the elaborate scenarios. Multi-page narratives, a series of photographs to evoke an entire story -- fit men, smiling women, plotlines

just

shy of believable.

Like, a woman's cat got stuck high up in a tree! So she was incredibly grateful to the pair of firefighters when they showed up and saved the day with their tall ladders! Then she gave a "come hither" smile, and, well! Their washboard abs were certainly a welcome bonus!

The two men took turns until she decided they shouldn't have to.

Or the pictorial with a couple on vacation who felt

delighted

when their hotel maid (who just happened to be adorned in fabulous lingerie) sauntered into their room, caught the guests

in flagrante delicto

, and decided to stay.

Camping? There'd be sex. Sorority sleepover? Sex. A woman serving cookies to her hubby's friends on game day? Sex, obviously.

And these scenes, almost inevitably, would culminate in one or more erotic cumshots.

Those scene-ending photographs

really

turned me on!

I mean, sure, it's performative, but sometimes the performances were

magnificent

. I always liked when the actors appeared to really enjoy each other's company. A woman smiling as her partner pulled out to ejaculate, speckling semen across her tummy, or her bush, or breasts.

Other women were photographed with cum decorating their faces. They must have felt a little silly, posing like that. But I found myself wondering... did it ever turn them on? Or were they only doing it because someone, somewhere, knew that it would turn

me

on?

I didn't know why I was so aroused. Maybe the idea that a woman could be so pleased by the experience that even her lover's semen would be greeted with desire. And... on her

face

. Lips, mouths, cheeks. Such intimate parts of our bodies!

I'd grown up hearing them called "dirty magazines," but seeing those performers smile made sexuality feel so clean.

Pornography helped me relax. That's how I learned that there isn't any contradiction in something being good, wholesome, raunchy, racy, promiscuous fun. We have bodies; they bring joy.

Still, it seemed like just a fantasy. The facial cumshot, that is. Something that a professional performer would do for the camera, but not what women I knew would want, no matter much they liked me. Just because it's titillating for the gazer doesn't mean it's fun for the gaze-ee. Or glaze-ee, as the case may be.

I'm pretty sure I knew that some women enjoyed pornography, but at the shop near campus it seemed like there was a separate genre marketed toward them, "couples porn": soft focus, artsy stuff, all dramatic angles, scenes that surely faded to the sound of corny keyboards. I assumed that was how most women would want their sex: steamy, maybe, sweaty, sometimes, but melting into black.

The first time I learned otherwise was during my senior year.

#

Allen and I were living off campus by then -- we got along so well as roommates that we wound up staying together all four years -- and we had our own TV and VCR, so sometimes we'd rent the videos. We rarely watched together, then. In those days, one of us might pick out something for a night home alone, and then the other would watch it later that week before the tape had to be returned.

Allen was out on a night when my friend Tabby called to invite herself over. Tabby and I had maintained an off-and-on relationship since near the end of freshman year. We never broke up, really -- we got along too well as friends for that -- but we never really committed, either.

During our "on" times we would kiss, and we'd feel each other up, our hands roaming freely beneath each other's clothes, but that was usually all. We might spend a few weeks making out regularly, but then another exam season would roll around and we'd drift apart until she or I felt lonely enough to take the risk of calling to ask whether our buddy was feeling lonely too.

I was happy to have her over: within minutes of her arrival we were kissing on the couch. Open-mouthed kissing, her tongue exploring my mouth; my hands beneath her shirt, massaging her back, sometimes shifting to her front and massaging her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra; one of her hands running through my hair, pulling my head to hers, the other stroking the bulging front of my jeans. I was a lot more confident than I'd been in high school!

But you know what happens when you get

too

confident?

Yup. You get careless.

Because while Tabby and I were making out, I somehow pressed my hip against the remote -- Allen or I must have left it carelessly on the couch -- and I accidentally pressed "play." Suddenly we were distracted by the sound of moaning coming from the TV.

I tried to quickly turn the TV off, but between our tangled arms and Tabby straddling me, I couldn't do it in time. While I was groping for the remote, Tabby pulled back a little and turned toward the screen.

Tabby's eyes went wide as she took in what was happening. Which, I should mention: my favorite pornos had narrative structure, meaningful characters, and dialogue... but this was something Allen had rented. Allen was into the compilation videos: usually plot-less, wall-to-wall sex, often short clips that would quickly incorporate a particular fantasy.

Which had me worried. At times he'd rented videos that specialized in anal sex... or double penetration... or pairs of women giggling as one received then dribbled a man's cum into the other's mouth...

This movie might be anything.

"Holy shit," Tabby said, her eyes on the screen. Then she laughed self-consciously. "If you're spending your nights with this, maybe I should come more often."

The sound of a man groaning became louder. The television showed a close-up of a pretty brown-haired woman letting a man slide his sizable penis into and out of her mouth. Every so often we could see the tip of her tongue trace the underside of his erection. The guy was moving carefully, almost like tai chi. The woman's eyes sparkled. He pulled out again: a trail of saliva linked his cock to her lips, then broke and tumbled to her chin. She smiled. Her wet skin glistened. The man slid his penis back into her mouth.

I set my hand on Tabby's thigh and took a deep breath. I'd never watched pornography with someone I was making out with -- I'd never worked up the nerve to ask. Hell, I'd never even

considered

asking! At that moment, I expected to be chastised ("Isn't having me here enough?") or laughed at ("How pathetic") or given the silent treatment until I at least turned the damn thing off.

"Hey, sorry about that, um, I guess I..." I muttered, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "It's just, sometimes..."

"Don't..." she replied, smiling. "You think my brothers never got caught?"

I looked at her again and saw an amused expression on her face. She looked beautiful like this: sardonic, her curls mussed from our kissing, a flush.

She caught me staring: "Oh, look, you're turning red." She laughed. "Look, I'm not, I don't want to embarrass you or anything. Did you want me to watch this with you, is that why you put it on?"

At that point, how could I claim I hadn't meant for her to see it, that I'd

accidentally

hit "play," that the video wasn't even mine? On screen the woman had taken control: she was working the base of his cock with one hand, her lips nibbling the tip. Tabby kept swiveling her neck to glance at the TV screen and then back to me as we talked.

"Um," I said, "well, only if you're..."

"Hey, I'm game," she said, and her hand strayed back into my lap. She leaned in and gave me another kiss on the lips, but this was only a quick one because she twisted again so she could watch. On screen, the woman's blowjob was interspersed with a few frames of the man's overly-ecstatic face, so I knew what was about to happen. I suppose Tabby did too. I began to rub her thighs; they felt warmer now, even through the fabric of her jeans.

We saw a wide-angle image of the couple: he was standing, naked; she was seated in a chair with a rumpled red dress bunched around her waist. Her lacy black undergarments lay on the floor. With one hand she cupped the man's testicles; her other hand was tucked between her own legs. Tabby reached for my jeans, then paused; I mumbled

yes

into her neck and kissed her there while she unbuttoned them, and then her own.

The woman onscreen, masturbating while she sucked cock, looked to be really close. Her neck and knees were flushing red, her eyes seemed to be rolling up. At other moments, she gazed at the man so lovingly. And the cock between her lips looked darker now. I patted Tabby's lower belly and it was her turn to murmur

mmm hmm

before I slid my hand past her underwear elastic and into her tangle of hair. My fingertips brushed the slippery upper fold of her lips. Tabby freed my erection from my boxers.

The man pulled his cock completely out of the woman's mouth. The camera zoomed in close: her face nearly filled the screen. She took his cock and began working it with both hands, the tip glistening from saliva.

The woman onscreen stared: earnest, expectant. Her lips parted. She had his penis inches from her face. Tabby had both hands on me and was jacking me off. I had a finger inside her and had managed to get my other hand around to her backside -- my middle finger traced the smooth crevasse between her cheeks. We saw a quick shot of the man's face (looking like an El Greco saint in ecstasy), before the camera cut back to the woman's open mouth and tongue.

Tabby squeezed my erection when the man began to ejaculate. Thick white cum leaped from his cock in spurts, some entering the woman's mouth, coating her tongue, others streaking her cheeks, her nose, her lips, even her hair. The camera zoomed out slightly -- she had strands all over her face as she pulled him close. Some of the semen on her cheek began to melt, trickling down.

She licked his cock again then pressed her cheek against his abdomen, tilting her face toward Tabby and me, smiling.

Tabby said "Holy shit" again.

"Mmm," I mumbled, hoping she wasn't offended.

She gave my penis another playful tug, and I felt her muscles tighten around my finger. "That'd be a lot to swallow," she said, and laughed. I laughed, too. For the moment, we were in the clear.

Another scene promptly began, this time showing two men kneeling over a cherubic-cheeked woman with close-cropped hair. The woman lay glistening atop a rumpled bed -- clearly this clip had come from an energetic film! Now supine, she had her legs spread, toying with herself, while both men masturbated near her head. One of the men patted her arm; the woman smiled and closed her eyes. I held my breath, wondering what Tabby was thinking.

Tabby liked what I was doing with my hands -- she'd begun to roll her hips, riding my touch -- and her hand was smoothly stroking my uproariously tumescent cock. But I couldn't see her expression. When she turned away from the screen, the only part of me that Tabby was looking at was my erection.

"You must really like this stuff," she observed, "this, coming on a woman's face." She said it matter-of-factly; a statement, not a question.

Just then, one of the men on screen grunted, then lowered the edge of his cock to the woman's lips. His penis pulsed, and an impressive amount of cum spurted over (and into?) the woman's mouth before he pulled away and shot the rest across her titled neck.

"Yes," I admitted.

The second man started to cum, spurting over the woman's still-smiling, now laughing face. His cum mostly decorated her rosy cheek, but some made it as far as her chest. Her large breasts shook as she giggled.

"I guess," Tabby began to say, as the woman on screen raised a hand to rub some of the men's combined ejaculate over her lips and into her mouth. I noticed then that the woman wore a wedding band that matched the second man's. "I never really noticed... you know, like... what a man's... his orgasm...." I hadn't realized how out of breath Tabby had become. "Some look really different."