Chapter 2
I don’t really understand how it’s possible to be paralyzed and energetic at the same time. That’s how I feel, though. I mean, it feels to me like I’m going to just faint dead away but it also feels to me like I’m some kind of superheroine going absolutely bananas beneath Dr. French.
I’m not trying to say that ordinarily, I’d just lay there. I mean, honestly, I don’t really have enough experience to say that there’s any way I’d ordinarily do it. I guess I’ve given enough blowjobs to have an ordinary way I do blowjobs. I guess that’s something that could be said. But as far as sex, this is only my second time. I lost my virginity after my junior prom. I was seventeen.
That’s it.
Everything else has been just fooling around.
Dr. French is the first man to be inside of me in five years.
And damn! He feels so good!
And I’m going bananas beneath him. I have one leg hooked over his butt and I use it to lift myself up to meet his thrusts. I also claw at his back and kiss his throat, shoulder, neck, and when I can, his mouth. I move my body like crazy! I mean, it’s such a strange thing because I can honestly say that I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. I’m just moving my body the way my body wants to move.
Then, without intending to, I hook my other leg over his butt and now I have both of them to help me meet his thrusts. I swear it seems to me I’m moving like some kind of wild sex demon. I just… I can’t help it. The orgasm explodes over me with absolute, impossible power, and there’s just nothing at all that can compare to it.
I’ve had my share of orgasms. I’ve had them from masturbation and some of my fooling around included boys using their fingers to get me off. One boy loved to use my vibrator on me since I wasn’t going to let him go all the way. It helped him feel like he was still sexy and in control, I guess.
Well, all of those orgasms are nothing compared to this one. This one feels all-consuming. This orgasm feels like my entire body is involved. It feels like there’s nothing at all within me not affected by or committed to the pleasure that overwhelms me. I move like a slut, moan like a slut, and cum like a slut.
I mean slut in a very good way.
I guess I mean everything right now in a very good way. Because I swear that everything I feel is very, very good. In fact, I don’t know if there’s anything better in all of my experience. I move and kiss and touch and it’s just the perfect combination of sexy and sweet. When I can hear in Dr. French’s moans that he’s getting closer, it makes my orgasm feel even more powerful. I don’t know how that sort of thing happens but it does. My whole body responds and it’s just wonderful.
When Dr. French cums, I think I’m going to pass out. The orgasm gives me another burst of power. Heck, maybe it’s a second orgasm. Maybe that’s what happens. I don’t know. What I know is that when he cums, my body locks up and the contractions from this second burst of power are strong enough that I just can’t breathe at all. I mean, it kind of feels like my abdominal muscles are spasming the same way they might if I were on my hundred-and-fiftieth sit-up. Except it feels incredibly good.
But the moment I can breathe, I go crazy beneath him again.
Damn, this feels good. This feels so much better than just good. It really feels to me that it isn’t even possible for something to feel better.
I hold tightly to him for a long time.
When my strength gives out, he pulls out and carries me to the bathroom. We shower together, and I love that there’s a lot of kissing and snuggling. After the shower, just wrapped in robes, we sit and go through the program book. He talks about the pictures and how he got into art. We order room service. He takes me to a secret website with more of his art. He’s had four different gallery exhibitions with four different names. Only T-Angle is erotic in nature. All of them are incredible, though.
We watched a movie on his laptop after that, both of us snuggled on the bed. Suddenly, I realize something and I say, “T-Angle. Tangle! It’s a pun!” That brings laughter and then, when I pout, tickle torture. The tickle torture leads to more. We make love again and fall asleep together. In the morning, I wake him up with a blowjob and we make love again.
He extended the reservation so we could spend the whole day together, which is special. All told we made love twice more before I needed to catch my plane. Since he wants to be anonymous, he doesn’t need to be at the actual show opening. I think it’s amazing that he drives me to the airport. In the parking lot at the airport, I give him a blowjob. I know this is going to sound kind of weird but the fact that I can almost taste his cum when the plane lifts off makes things better for me. What I mean is that I feel on the sweeter side of bittersweet instead of the bitter side. Of course, I wish pretty hard that I’d discovered his secret a few years back but I suspect we wouldn’t have ended up in the hotel room if I were still an undergraduate.
But it was a perfect night and a perfect day. I’ll treasure the memory of it and, I know, I’ll treasure the book with Vance’s art. I imagine that book will help me relive our time together and will be a great reminder of the man who captivated me for a long time and the incredible one-night stand I got to have with him.
A nice reminder.
A fantastic reminder.
Ultimately, a completely unnecessary reminder since on the other side of the country, I get a permanent reminder of my time with him. My baby Savanna is born nine months after the plane lands. Well, Vance French’s baby, too. Not just mine.
The thing is, though, that I never tell him I’m pregnant and never tell him he has a daughter.