how to end a dry spell.

Louis meets me at the southwest corner of the block where I am at a supreme-court-themed party (my friends are VERY specific people), because I insisted that he walk me home because my skirt is too short, it is too late, and I am too drunk. We walk arm in arm, catching up with each other about the events of the past few weeks: his huge work upgrade, my finally finishing the most challenging year of my academic existence. His hand slides across my waist to rest on the curve of my ass.

He tells me he wants to bend me over a car parked on the street.

He asks me if I can tell how hard he is from where I am, pulled to his right as we briskly march down a cobblestone sidewalk.

I feel my pussy tingling, waking up from a hiatus. I lick his earlobe and tell him to walk faster.

We are at my front door. I fumble with the keys. We enter. I walk up the stairs in front of him, my impossibly short skirt riding up my hips and showing my thong-clad pussy through my tights. His hands are running up my thighs, helping my skirt on its way north.

We are at my apartment door. He presses behind me as I search for the key. My skirt is at my waist, he finds the top of my tights and pulls them down, his breath is breezing through the hairs on the back of my neck and tickling my ears. His hand spreads my thighs and fucks my pussy on the landing.

I cannot find my keys.

I press back against him. I go from the beginnings of sexual response to the edge of orgasm in approximately ten seconds.

There is a zipping sound, and the ripping of a condom wrapper. I am momentarily empty, and then his hands are on my hips again, his cock is parting my labia and entering me, I am standing on my tiptoes with my face pressed against my front door. It is 2:00am, I barely consider that my neighbors might be awake to enjoy the show. The pane of glass in my front door rattles with our thrusting.

His right hand pulls the front of my tights down and finds my engorged clit. He brings me to orgasm and I stifle my cries as best I can, hoping not to wake my roommate whose bed is approximately 8 feet away through two doors from where we screw.

He pulls out of me and pulls off the condom. I find my key in an unfamiliar pocket of the jacket I only rarely wear. I open the door. We make our way through the darkness to my bedroom, shedding clothing as we go. I turn on the light. I take his latex-tasting cock into my mouth, he moans deeply and holds my hair in fistfuls. I am kneeling on uneven hardwood. Saliva rolls out of my mouth, onto my hand, onto my thigh, down the slant of my thigh to the floor. He hardens more. He moans, pulls my head off his erection, and puts his hands under my arms as he tells me to get on the bed with my legs in the air.

His face is buried in my pussy, one hand is inside me and one is pressing apart my thigh. I am dissolving in my own orgasm.

Another condom. He stands as he penetrates me.  My legs are over his shoulders, then spread apart by his hands, then wrapped around his waist as he pushes me back on the bed. We roll over and I am on top, his face in my breasts. I slow us down. I am savoring this, the cock that stretches me out and presses against my swollen tissues, the hands that spank and spread the globes of my ass, the mouth and teeth that bite my nipples while calling me a whore.

I am lost. I try not to leave marks as I kiss him, kiss his neck, cry into his ears and come, my snatch wrapping and seizing around him.

I ask him to fuck me from behind. He is thrilled to comply. We roll over; he grabs my vibrator off my nightstand and gives it to me immediately before lunging in.  The fronts of his thighs slap against the backs of mine. His hand leaves large red marks on hips. I press the vibrator against my clit, I pant, I hold off as best I can and so does he, until he doesn’t anymore and thrusts aggressively against me while making purely primitive, purely male sounds.

He pulls out. I fall onto my stomach. My breath is rapid. His head is in the small of my back. He kisses both of the dimples on the back of waist. My hands are in his. We are like this for a minute, until we rearrange ourselves under covers, with him on his back and my head in the hollow of his arm. We sleep.

The next morning, we are on our sides, my stomach to his back and my arm around his waist. We mutter morning pleasantries to each other. He rolls on his back. We kiss, small light kisses on cheeks and noses, then heavier, more purposeful ones on mouths. I straddle him. I kiss him. I slip down between his legs.

I take him into my mouth. I feel him stiffen; I wrap a hand around his shaft and one around his balls. I alternate running my hand with my mouth and using just my hand while licking each testicle. I feel him get impossibly hard, and I back off. I feel him soften, and I apply more pressure, with my lips and tongue to the parts of his dick that make him instantly harden, with the knuckle of my hand cradling his scrotum to his perineum and indirectly to his prostate.

I bring him to an edge, and then I bring him back. I repeat.

My pussy swells and drips. I moan against his cock. His hand reaches between my legs and he half-laughs, half moans to find how wet I am. He asks me to stop sucking him off, he begs to eat my pussy, and I comply.

Sucking cock brings me close to orgasm on its own. Being flipped over and feeling a light, then slightly more substantial, tonguing, accompanied by hands that spread apart my labia and penetrate my cunt sends me over the edge much more quickly than I expect.

The climaxes that I reach with Louis’s face between my thighs are of heights that I cannot attain by myself. With him, my mind empties, my body opens and my spine enflames, every nerve from every part of me firing off. Muscles in my pelvis that are otherwise quiescent make their existence known, my throat makes sounds that come from some more basal part of my organism. The sensation from Louis’s lips and his own moans of satisfaction reverberate against my flesh.

He arises. He kisses me, his mouth tastes like my body. He puts on a condom, puts my legs around his neck and thrusts into me without preamble. I am squeaking, squealing with pleasure and oversensitivity as he fucks me and my post-orgasm pussy tightens even more around him. I move my legs down, I wrap them around his waist, he holds my arms over my head, he thrusts into me and sweats.

He pulls out. He pulls off the condom. I lift my torso, and with him straddling my thighs I take him into my mouth while cradling his balls and stroking his shaft.

“Margot, you can squeeze me harder than that.”

I accept the challenge.

His breathing changes. He thrusts against my face.  I feel him orgasm before he makes a sound, his ejaculate shooting straight to the back of my throat in a high-pressure stream. His voice is guttural, his orgasm continues. What I can’t swallow leaks out from my lips onto my hand, and falls on my stomach.

He stops. I pull my mouth off. I smile broadly. We flop over and sleep for another hour. We wake up. We make coffee. I am calmer than I have been in weeks. He seems happier than I have ever known him to be. In my kitchen, we hug like friends and kiss each other on the forehead. He leaves to meet his brother for lunch.

I go back to bed. The left side—the side he slept on—smells of man. I have no obligations today aside from enjoying anything that I want to. I smile, and run my hands across my body, thinking of all the things my lover can make me feel.