I’ve got a high school friend who collects sneakers. He came from a fairly poor family. Back then, his shoes were always the knock-off brand. We all had Nikes or Adidas; he had Ponys or Zips. But, the minute he started making money on his own, he didn’t upgrade his apartment or his car; he bought the most expensive sneakers on the market. He keeps on buying new ones every time his paycheck rolls in.
Point is, sometimes the thing we’re denied in our youths can become our obsession as adults.
I mention this because, after years of never getting the chance with Esther, the moment my tongue and Star’s vagina met, I became addicted to licking pussy. The years that Esther and I had been married where I wasn’t allowed to give her oral sex? They just pissed me off. What a fucking waste.
My future needed to involve women who loved spreading their legs for my mouth.
Every now and then, one hears from some suspicious source that pussy-eating is taboo or unmanly. I even saw a YouTube video where some woman—a woman!—said she didn’t like it when men ate her out. At the time, I suppose it gave me some solace since Esther refused my advances.
Yeah, I thought, it’s unmanly! Damn right, I said to myself, even though in my heart I burned to try it, just once.
Now, what do I think? Nah, it’s for guys. Girls, too. But, pussy eating is definitely for guys. I mean, I suppose it might be unmanly if you ate pussy like—I don’t know—like you were dining with the fucking royal family, being all proper and delicate about it. Being hesitant and servile.
But that wasn’t how I wanted to eat Star’s pussy, and it wasn’t how she wanted hers eaten.
Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t attack Star’s vagina. I didn’t treat her like a platter of pies at an eating contest. I tried to strike a balance between getting what I wanted and giving what she wanted.
What I discovered was they were the same thing.
At first, I wanted to explore it, taste every part. She wanted that, too. Then, I discovered that my favorite place was the place she wanted me. It was the most exciting part of doing it because I got to hear the kinds of feminine sighs, moans, and cries that made my cock go from rubber to fucking titanium. The utterances Star made while my head was between her legs was positively addictive.
What about the taste? Well, when you get that kind of reaction by dragging your tongue over it—when you feel her body quake, when she screams with a pleasure so acute it hurts your ears, when she thanks you and tells you that you’re the best and how she loves you and how her body belongs to you? Then, hey, it doesn’t matter what it tastes like; the fucking thing is delicious.
Star’s pussy tasted exactly the way I dreamed pussy would taste.
I spent well over ninety minutes between Star’s thighs. I drank up a couple of tiny squirts. I licked every inch of skin and flesh from her belly button to her ass crack and in-between. I did it to her on her back, on her side, with her sitting on my face, and on her hands and knees. I held her virtually upside down with my arms wrapped around her stomach. I used my tongue, my lips, and my fingers. I sucked. I wiggled. I shoved. I swallowed. I scooped. And, damn, did I lick.
That pussy was mine.
Every time Star recovered enough to go for my cock—to return the favor, so to speak—I took control of her legs and dove right back between. She might have complained for a moment, but the instant my tongue found her spot, she relented and gave herself to me with sweet resignation.
When she was finally spent—and she expired before I did—she ordered me in the most definitive language to stay away. So, I did, and I listened to her exhausted voice ramble dreamily about my rugged hands and thick fingers, how she’d forgotten what a man’s stubble felt like between her legs, and how soft, but strong my tongue was. She fell asleep mumbling something about my cock.
I rolled onto my back, invigorated. “A new life,” Diane had said. Fuck yeah. She said something like “forget the past unless it helps the future.” Fuck, yeah.
My face sopping wet from Star’s pussy, I felt reborn.
I woke up just before 8:30am.
While Star slept, I crept out of her room and made a phone call. It took damn near ten minutes of getting shoved around and transferred, but once I explained that I was the Bookstore Hero—I didn’t use those words—I reached my target.
The guy remembered me from three years ago, and he knew I was the same guy from the bookstore.
First, Apologized for letting him down. Next, I explained my situation. I told him what I wanted and when I could do it because I would be recovering for a few weeks.
Without hesitation, he agreed, and he added a few bonuses to my proposal, too. I thanked him for the chance.
He said, “No, no. I’m looking forward to this. Thank you.”
Then, I called my supervisor at the T, thanked him, and quit my job.
Twenty minutes later, the President of the MBTA called me. We worked out a deal.
The last thing to do was jump on the Internet and search and search and search until I sancaktepe escort found what I needed.
It didn’t take me as long as I expected, but it cost more than I planned. I had to buy it on eBay.
Star was awake when I came back into her room.
“Where did you go?”
“Knock out a couple of things is all.”
She nodded and waved me back into bed.
I climbed in beside her. “Hey, Star, why do you keep telling me not to give up on Esther? Do you know something I don’t?”
She considered the question for a moment before responding. “She loves you. I know she does.”
“She told you?”
“No, but I feel it,” she said, “And you love her.”
I debated telling Star the truth, but not for long. “You should know something, Star, and it’s not something I’ve ever told anyone.”
She stared at me.
“I never loved her. I don’t. I’ve said the words, but I never truly meant them. I just—I didn’t want to break her heart.”
“That’s not true,” she argued.
“It is. I dated her because she was the one girl that I shouldn’t have been able to date—with her religion and all. It’s not possible, people would say. Every other girl in my class, I probably could have gone out with, but not being supposed to date Esther made me want to.”
Star didn’t respond.
“She wasn’t even that great looking when we first dated, but she—she blossomed, didn’t she? By the time…”
Star finished the thought for me. “By the time you were married, she was gorgeous. You’re right, but when you first got together, Mom sent me pictures and I wondered, ‘Why her?'” She cocked her he’d to the side and asked, “So, what’s your point here?”
I said, “I suppose I’m getting at the idea that by dating her I hoped she might change in some ways—that I would come to love her at some point.”
“But, she has changed! Think of how different she is now.”
I stared at Star. “For you.”
“Oh, I know you think she’s given up, but don’t you give up.”
“Hasn’t she given up?”
Star’s response was sudden and insistent. “No! She loves you.” In the silence that followed, she stared at me for a moment and then, with an effort, admitted, “I really don’t know. Have you given up?”
“Honestly? Yeah, I think so.”
I gave a non-committal nod.
Neither of us said a word for some time.
I broke the silence first. “Star, are you and Esther in love?”
“All I wanted was to help her through these changes—help her back to you.”
“So? Do you love her?”
“Is she in love with you?”
“Infatuated. Intrigued, yes. In love? I don’t know. Maybe.”
I nodded. “Star, what do you want? From life, I mean.”
It seemed she was expecting a different question from me because she didn’t respond other than to give me a quizzical look.
I clarified, “Do you like your work? Do you want to get married? Have kids? What?”
“I wouldn’t ever rule those things out, but not right now. Right now I want to…” She stopped, thinking hard, it seemed. “I want to heal people and I want to feel safe.”
“Heal people…wait, what do you mean ‘safe’?”
“Protected. Without fear. Loved.”
I shook my head. “The bouncers at Centerfolds would never, ever let someone…”
“It’s not that. It’s everything.”
“What do you mean?”
She said, “I didn’t know until you moved in. I felt it, but I didn’t understand it.”
I shook my head again, not understanding.
She explained. “I’ve been afraid. I’ve been afraid since that night, since J and J. I just didn’t know it until you came.”
“My being here reminded you of them? Look, I’ll move out. I…”
“No!” she snapped. “No. You being here made me feel safe, and feeling safe again—for, like, the first time in years—is what made me realize how exposed and alone I’ve always felt since that night.”
She shook her head at me, but not as if she was about to call me “dumbass.” This seemed more like affection and thankfulness.
I didn’t know what to say.
She grew serious, and she asked, “Do you ever feel guilty about it?”
I knew she meant feeling guilty about what I did to Jericho and Jackamanie all those years back. Glancing away from her, I sneered, shook my head, and said, “Nah.”
Tilting her head to me, she caught my eyes and asked again, “Tell me the truth. Please. Do you? I need to know.”
She needed the truth, I could see the anxiety in her face.
I shrugged. “Maybe sometimes. I mean, to this day I don’t even know why I did it. They had it coming, though, right?”
Star’s looked away to the window. Her voice was a whisper. “They had it coming.”
Then, she told me.
It isn’t easy to write. I’ll spare the details.
The Saturday exactly one week before it happened was Star’s eighteenth birthday. I had forgotten about that. The following Saturday, there had been a party. Star went with a friend and her friend’s boyfriend. She drank too much, too fast, and by midnight, she wanted to go sarıyer escort home and sleep it off. Jericho offered her a ride.
Star remembered climbing in the back and laying down to sleep. The next thing she remembered was Jackamanie climbing into the back of the car beside her. Then, Jericho drove off.
Jackamanie got handsy with her. Star complained, and Jericho pulled over on a dark dirt road in the hills.
But not to stop Jackamanie—to join him in the back seat of the Trailblazer. He had grown jealous; he wanted some, too.
As Star spoke, questions occurred to me, but I knew better than to ask. And, by keeping my mouth shut, the answers occurred to me naturally from how she told her story.
Shamefully, I have to admit that I didn’t think what happened to Star even could happen the way she described it. I always thought it could only happen if the attacker had a gun to the victim’s head or something. Barring that kind of threat, I always believed a person could just end the attack by biting down really hard.
Star, I thought, was too agile and athletic. She was too smart. She had incredible presence of mind. She could wriggle her face out of the way and fight her way free, right?
No, because it happened to Star twice that night. Jericho held her for Jackamanie, and then they traded places.
Afterward, they took her home, thanking her for her part in their pleasure and describing the event as if it had been consensual as if to reassure themselves.
Until I heard her tell the story, I never understood how such an attack strikes at the very core of a person. Star described the feeling of suffocating and just wanting to die. She described the rage she felt.
I couldn’t imagine what she went through, but in listening to her tell the story, I began to understand the paralyzing terror that struck her in the back of that car, how the mind just shuts down to protect itself.
Star never cried during the retelling. If anything, she seemed hypnotized. Her voice never rose above a nearly monotonous mutter. Her eyes fixed on the bed.
When she finished, I drew her close to me and we laid in her bed together, holding each other in silence.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes. Then, Star asked, “Do you feel guilty?”
“Like you say: they had it coming.”
“Not for them,” she explained. “For you.”
“You were a hero, and not just in kicking their asses, but in never telling anyone, in going to jail for me, in keeping all of your promises to me.”
“No big deal.”
A minute of silence passed. I thought of asking her if she ever felt like telling her story to a wider audience. I thought of asking if she wanted to expose those fuckers for what they are.
I didn’t ask.
It took—what?—six years for her to finally tell me. The best thing I could do is be there for her and let her decide.
“Will you tell me about the bookstore?” she asked.
I told her. Everything.
When it was all done and she had asked a million questions, she said, “See? This is why I feel safe. This is why it can only be you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need you here with me, always. You make me feel safe, just like how you made Diane feel.”
“So, I’m not allowed to leave?”
“No,” she said forcefully. Then, easing off, she said, “Can I tell you something?”
“After that night with J and J is when I decided I was a lesbian. I never wanted to see or be anywhere near another cock for the rest of my life.”
“I kind of put that together.”
“Yeah? Well, do you remember your first night here? When we talked in the family room late that night?”
“I told you I was thinking about guys again.”
“It was because of you. I didn’t quite know it then, but I know it now. I felt that way because you were here in this apartment with me, and I felt protected again.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She continued, “But, it can only be you. You’re the only one I feel safe with.”
“But, what about Esther? What about…?”
She didn’t let me finish. “No more talking. Just hold me.”
When I awakened, Star’s fingers gently stroked my cock. She had reached behind her back to touch me.
Sensing I had awakened, she whispered, “I need something—something I haven’t needed in a long time.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the delicate caresses of her fingertips.
Star went on. “You’ll need to be gentle and sweet—go slow.”
Without another word, she shifted her body, scooting her ass closer to me and raising her leg. Her hand guided my cock between her thighs. She wiggled the tip into place and pushed herself against it.
She wasn’t particularly wet, but as my cock snaked inside, I felt her body saturate it in her fluids, easing my passage. Once fully mated, I groaned at the sensation of being so utterly and perfectly joined to her. Star’s body poured fuel into mine, energizing me.
Not wanting to aggravate my shoulder or silivri escort hurt Star, I took it slow.
And it could not have been better that way.
Instead of a hasty rush to cum, ramping up my pace the moment things felt right, I just focused on the sensory feast her body offered.
In the past, I noticed smells at the start or end of sex, but never during. Now, I basked in the smell of Star’s hair and how it mingled with the fragrance of her pussy into something quintessentially feminine.
There was no wet clapping of bodies this time. Here, I was listening to Star’s breathing and how subtle changes told me the story of her flowering satisfaction. She held her breath when I plodded; when I could go no further, she let the air out in an open-mouthed burst. Between, there were short, airy cries no louder than a whisper, and every sound she made told me yes, keep doing that.
Without the physical exertion of frantic, cum-driven sex, our bodies felt cool. The only warm places—warm, not hot—were where we touched: her ass against my lower belly, my lips on the back of her neck, and the front of my thighs against the back of her legs.
There was one hot place—Star’s pussy. The fucking thing was a cauldron of lava, but it needed to be that way. My cock ached for the heat, and Star’s body bathed my erection in fire. I felt everything inside of her, places where the burning pressure eased and where it tensed on my erection.
At one point, Star sucked in a long breath and held it across two, three, and four deep, slow thrusts. Her body tensed throughout this, and for almost the entire duration, my cock felt her body throb inside.
Then, her body relaxed. She blew the air she’d been holding through pursed lips like she’d just finished a difficult rep of squats. Catching her breath, she turned her face toward me—toward the ceiling—and whispered, “I just had an orgasm. Keep going.”
Just as quietly, I asked where, when I had my own orgasm, I should do it.
She muttered, “As deep inside me as you can.”
Her words stirred me, filled me with more fuel. I didn’t fuck faster, but I began completing my strokes inside Star with mashing potency, flexing my cock so as it throbbed in her pussy with all of the force of my hips behind it.
It was difficult, and I needed leverage. At the risk of adding to the pain of my shoulder, I took Star’s hip in my hand to help me grind into her.
No longer whispering, Star cried aloud, “Yes!”
Her voice thrilled me.
My deep, slow thrusts continued, and she began calling my name.
Not long after, she told me she loved me.
She repeated it every time thereafter. My shoulder twisted in pain, but I knew it would be soon.
Star’s body began flexing again.
Then, mine did.
I held us together, ignoring the pain, as my cock surged inside of her. Fuck, it was rapturous. It was the culmination of all of the denial and desire I had felt when I first saw Star’s stunning body on the stage at Centerfold’s.
At last, Star’s voice diminished to a whisper. “I love you,” she said.
Struggling to get more air, I rested my head on her back and said, “I love you, too.”
Our bodies subsided, and Star said, “Don’t take it out. Let me feel it.”
I was softening a few minutes later when Star suddenly rolled over to face me. My cock slipped out of her.
She smiled and touched my chest. Then, she kissed me and asked, “Can I keep teasing you sometimes?”
“You mean the farts and boogers all of the other stupid shit you do?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Yeah,” I said.
This made her very happy. So happy, in fact, that before I could appreciate the glowing beauty of her grin, the sheets and blankets of Star’s bed had suddenly been yanked over my head.
She dutch-ovened me.
Esther called and spoke with Star and me after the funeral. It was odd.
She was sad, of course, but underneath the mourning for her father, I sensed something else— fear, maybe, like there was something besides the passing of her Dad that she knew was coming, a thing she dreaded. Star and I got her laughing a few times, but each time, it ended abruptly, as if she remembered this impending doom.
I knew the issue wasn’t her Dad because I had already heard what she had to say about that topic; the funeral had been the first thing we spoke about, and from our discussion, I had a good sense of her feelings going forward.
I could have been wrong, of course, but there was something else that nagged on her.
Adding to my belief was what Star said after the call ended. She asked if Esther seemed different to me.
I said a little bit, maybe.
Then, Star said, “She’s been different—I don’t know—maybe since we found out about the bookstore.”
Esther’s flight would arrive Friday afternoon.
As it was Wednesday, Star and I spent the next two days together; she took an additional few day’s vacation to be with me.
She took care of me, changing the dressings on my shoulder, and keeping the sutures in my head clean and protected.
I knew from the hospital that the surgeries were mostly superficial repairs and closing up wounds. The main problem had been the loss of blood, but they gave me several pints at the hospital. The pain began to subside, and I was regaining strength and range of motion in my shoulder.