I don’t often think that things can’t get better, but at this particular moment, that was the one thought that clearly went through my mind: Things can’t get much better than this.
This was me, only wearing my shirt, drilling my twenty-year-old girlfriend’s bald pussy as she leaned over her desk in her sorority room.
This was her roommate sitting only a foot away, recording us while fingering herself.
This was my girlfriend, with her thong down around her ankles, her skirt bunched up around her waist, her black nylon socks ending just beneath her knees, heels trying to keep traction, yelling out my name with each thrust of my cock.
This was how I was letting go of much pent-up tension from the past weeks where all I seemed to do was study and work and during which I had little-to-no-time to spend with my sexy girlfriend, a girl I met during another late night in the library during which I strongly considered (once again) what I was still doing in school at the age of twenty-seven.
And this was me holding on to her hip with my left hand while using my right to pull her hair back, and her smiling at me as my balls slapped against her perfect ass, and her saying to me, “Come. Come inside of me. I want it, and you need it. Come inside of me.”
At which point I let go of her hair, grabbed her hips with both of my hands, thrust once, twice, thrice more until I came and hollered and her roommate locked the door so no one would walk in on the three of us and I just kept coming and my girlfriend kept saying, “Come, come inside of me, come—that’s it: come,” and I followed her orders until my knees felt weak and I slid out of her and her roommate summed it up best with, “Jesus Christ, that’s a big load.”
I may have said, “Thank you,” but I’m not sure. The only thing I knew for sure at that moment was that things couldn’t get much better, and as I crawled under my girlfriend’s covers on her bed, and she crawled in beside me with the happiest smile I had ever seen, I was completely OK with that being the best moment of my life.
Looking back on it, meeting Maria might have been the luckiest moment of my life.
I was studying late in the main University library on a Thursday night during my third year of professional school when I ran into her. At the time, I had just turned twenty-seven, and while all of my friends had graduated and then earned jobs, I had stayed in school, convinced that a better way to riches was more schooling. But it was all good, as Nicole, my girlfriend since the first week of college, was staying, too.
Two weeks before my 27th birthday, Nicole dumped me after getting hired for a job in Florida. I told her I’d go with her. She told me, “Don’t bother.” And that was that.
So there I was: twenty-seven and single and up to my forehead in debt, unsure if what I had been studying was even worth it anymore. I was looking for a book of articles in my subject of “expertise” in the library dedicated to that subject, but found out that it had been rented out more than a year ago and that asshole had never returned it.
There was really only one article in that collection that I wanted to read for something that I was working on, and I found out that it was in a journal in the University’s main library. I tried to avoid that place as much as possible since the undergraduates who studied there always seemed so fucking obnoxious, always talking or texting, seemingly unaware that people were actually there to do some work. I hated those little bastards.
It was a conscious effort on my part to forget that I was just like them not so long ago.
But on Thursday nights, all the bars downtown had great drink specials and didn’t look too hard at that ID that may have been a fake. So, on those nights, the little freshmen and sophomores abandoned campus and headed toward cheap (and shitty) beer, strong Long Islands and even stronger hangovers.
C’est la vie. The main library was mine.
I went to where the journal was usually kept, but that part of the library had closed by the time I got there. I was just going to give up when I decided to check one more place, up in the older part of the library where not a whole lot of people ventured anymore. They stored some really old crap up there but also rented out “cages” to graduate and professional students—and a few, brave undergads—who wanted a home-away-from-home place to study. I could never have rented a “cage” based merely on its name—yet, some of students actually did, and one of my classmates—Michael—was one of them.
There’s not a lot to say about Michael, so I’ll be brief. In my time at this university, he and I were something akin to friends, but we never hung out together, and after we finally got the hell out of that place, we never saw each other again. At that time, though, we were working on a similar project, and I figured he might have the journal I needed with him in his cage.
I found the elevator in the back of a nearly deserted café that was about to close and pressed the UP button. When it opened, I got in and chose the button marked 8M. That worried me, that I was going to a floor that wasn’t entirely a floor by itself, like something out of a Harry Potter book, or, much more worrisome, a movie about being stuck in John Malkovich’s head.
The elevator churned and coughed its way up seven-and-a-half floors before the doors opened once more. Poorly lit, 8M seemed like something out of an illiterate’s nightmare: books and shadows everywhere while the only people present were from the worst area of life—academia.
A sign in front of me stated that cages 100-199 were to my left and cages 200-295 were to my right. I hadn’t been up there since I was a sophomore and couldn’t remember where, exactly, Michael had said his cage was located—in the 100s or the 200s? I thought the latter, so I took off to the right.
The poorly lit room played with me as I searched for my classmate. I thought I saw shadows moving and books hanging in the air. I felt like I had fallen back in time to when the University first opened, right after the Revolution. Students back then supposedly used candles to get around the library (which doesn’t seem safe), and I thought I’d have better luck with a candle than with the shitty light.
I checked my watch—almost eleven. Great. Almost another night entirely wasted.
I thought I heard something behind me and spun around—to nothing. Putting my hand on my chest, I willed myself to calm down. “Just the shadows,” I said to me and only me. “Calm the fuck down.”
And then the blonde-headed girl next to me said, “Who the hell are you talking to?”
A small blade of sunlight hit my eyes. I reached my hand for Maria’s and found it, gripped it and she gripped back. I lifted my other hand to block the sunlight, opened my eyes, saw Maria—she smiled, I smiled.
A romantic moment.
Except for the board at my waist with a hole cut into it through which my cock and balls lay.
Maria had mentioned this before—wanting to try a cockboard to either jack me off or fuck me. I was never opposed to it, but last night, when I came into her while she was bent over her desk, was the first time I had gotten off around her.
Thinking about last night, my cock stirred. Maria saw it, and laughed.
“What time is it?” I asked her.
“Oh, shit.” I had class at 11. “I gotta get out of here.”
She laughed, and a stray piece of blonde hair fell across her face. She looked beautiful. “You really have been out of it,” she said, pushing back the hair. “It’s Spring Break, honey.”
“Oh.” I paused, then: “How are we still in your house? Shouldn’t it be closed?”
“It is closed—but I’m President-elect. We’re the only ones here.”
I looked to my left. Maria’s roommate, Carmen, was looking at us from her bed. I looked back to Maria.
“Well, who’s gonna tape?” she said, and laughed, and grabbed my dick.
“Wait,” Carmen said, and got out of bed wearing a white t-shirt that ended just above her waist—and nothing else. She, too, had a shaved pussy.
“You better hurry,” Maria said slowly, looking ready to do whatever she was about to do to me.
I’ll do my best to describe Maria and Carmen. Maria, I consider an angelic blonde. Her naturally blonde hair falls just past her shoulders. Right now, sitting in front of me, she’s wearing a tight, white tank-top that shows off her perfect full breasts. Currently, she’s horny—I can tell from the way her nipples are pushing against the tank-top. She has decided not to wear a bra this morning. She has very smooth skin, somewhat tanned, but not so much. She’s on the shorter end of the spectrum, coming in at—I would guess—5’2″. But her legs are so perfect that they seem longer, and right now, I’m running a finger up her bare legs toward her pussy—of which I’ve eaten out plenty by now. She’s got a bit of a rump, but it looks great it in just about anything—jeans, shorts, skirts—or nothing. She often wears thongs, and right now, she’s got on a little black g-string. She knows that I’m an ass man and often buries hers in my face for long periods of time and lets me go to work on her.
Before last night, though, I hadn’t seen her in eight weeks. But back to that in a bit.
Carmen, whom I’ve met only once previously, is half-white, half-African-American. And almost as beautiful as Maria. Carmen’s got dark brown hair and her physical appearance mirrors Maria—though her boobs aren’t as big and neither is her ass. Still, both look great, and as she walks over with the camera, ready to film me and Maria again, I notice that she isn’t wearing a bra either and decided against putting on underwear. My bad luck.
Carmen pulled up a chair, took a seat and turned on the camera. “OK. I’m ready.”
Maria hasn’t taken her eyes off of my semi-erect cock since she first gripped it. Now, she doesn’t say a word but uses her other—left—hand and starts massaging my balls while she uses her right thumb to play with my cock head. I gasp—it feels wonderful.
“What are you going to do to him?”
I’m wondering that myself.
“Make him come,” Maria says, voice full of lust—pure lust. It couldn’t be sexier.
“I’m zooming in on his cock—what’s that piece of plywood, Maria?”
“That’s called a cockboard. I got it from a girl who graduated last year,” she said, still massaging and rubbing slowly. I’m now fully erect.
“She cut out a hole in it and used on her boyfriends. The dick goes through the hole—as you can see—and she can either strap the guy down or let him be. Either way, he’s a bit trapped at the waist, and, of course, I’ve got the goods in my hands.” She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.
“Why didn’t you strap him down?”
“Craig’s had a tough couple of weeks. He hasn’t come since I met him until last night.”
“He never had the time.” She twisted my balls a little, causing me to sit up. “Isn’t that right?”
“Jesus,” Carmen muttered. “If I were you, I’d make him suffer.”
Eyes locked with mine, Maria said, “But I’m not you.” She let up on my balls and stroked me a little faster. She spit on my cock—that was the first time a girl had done that. It was hot. “Why don’t you tell Craig what you would do with him?”
Carmen said, “I keep yards of string near my bed. I like to take it and wrap some around the guy’s balls—tight—let him know who’s in charge. I pull it, let him know that he’s gotta do what I say—or he might not be coming for a long time.”
Carmen laughed. Maria stroked. I moaned.
Carmen said, “Then, holding the string, I either make the guy eat my pussy or fuck me hard, make sure I get to come before he does. Sometimes, if the guy’s pretty good, I’ll make him make me come twice or three times before I decided what to do with him.”
She stopped talking, then: “Damn, Maria, look at the pre-cum. His cock’s glistening. Aren’t you gonna try some of that?”
Still looking me in the eye, still stroking slowly—but somewhat faster: “Nope.”
“Can I, then?”
“No. He’s mine, Carm.”
“Keep telling Craig what you’d do to him. I think he likes it.”
I spoke—or tried to. “I’m…I feel close.”
Maria said, “Not yet.”
Carmen said, “Well, if the guy’s lucky, I let him come. Usually, I don’t fuck. There’s gotta be a connection there, you know? If I’m still horny, once in a while I’ll suck the guy off, swallow his cum. It tastes OK, you know?”
“Oh, I know.” Speeding up.
I said, “I’m not going to last.”
“Usually,” Carmen said, “I jack the guy off, give him a good handjob. But I don’t stop! After he comes, I keep going, make the guy scream and holler. Then I have to shave my pussy in his face to shut him up. I’m surprised guys keep coming back for more. You think I’d have some sort of reputation by now.”
“Some guys like pain,” Maria said, taking away her left hand from my dick but pumping madly with her right. She tickled my balls with her left hand, gently palming them. “Do you like pain, Craig?”
I couldn’t think. I knew she could make things painful right then, but I couldn’t think because I was about to come.
“I’m about…I’m about to…”
I was completely vulnerable to her.
She gently rubbed my nuts. “Come,” she said. “Come right now, Craig. Come for me. Come.”
And I did—a shot that went right into the air and hit Maria across her ample cleavage. And then another, smaller shot of cum, followed by several smaller ones, until she had drained me.
From behind the camera, Carmen said, “Keep going.”
“No,” Maria said. “I’m not going to do that to him.”
“Lucky fucker,” Carmen said, powering down the camera.
“How are you feeling?”
I said, “I feel great. You’re amazing, Maria.”
She smiled. I was starting to love that smile.
Carmen looked at Maria’s breasts. “Are you going to try that?”
Confused, Maria looked down and saw what Carmen was talking about: my cum. She laughed. “No,” and then, anticipating her next question, said, “Go ahead.”
Carmen got out of her chair and leaned over me. I could tell her pussy was drenched. I very much wanted to taste it. But instead I settled for watching her lick my jizz off the top of my girlfriend’s breasts.
“Mmmm. He tastes pretty good, Maria.”
Again, she laughed. It was music to my ears.
“How about you, Craig—want something to eat?”
I nodded and she lifted the board off of me, and the three of us went downstairs to grab some food.
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
I jumped—the girl scared me that badly. “Jesus,” I said, heart beating fast.
She took a step forward. “Hey,” she said. “Hey, it’s OK. Calm down.”
“You scared me.”
“Yeah, I got that. Just calm down, OK?”
I looked at her in the poorly lit library, and immediately thought she was beautiful. She was wearing a hoodie with the name of our university across the chest, light blue jeans with “fashionable” rips in them and flip-flops. She smiled and said, “Are you OK now?”
“Yeah.” I coughed, cleared the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I’m OK. Sorry. I just didn’t expect anyone else to be around here.”
“Yep, it’s pretty deserted this time of the week. You’re the first person I’ve seen in about two hours.”
Her comment surprised me—not that she hadn’t seen anyone for two hours but that she had been here for that long. I don’t mean that to sound sexist or rude, but I could tell she was younger, most definitely an undergraduate, and from personal experience, I knew that very close to all attractive female undergrads were hitting the bars at this time.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her.
“Looking for a book on Ezra Pound. The computer said it would be up here. I’m kind of lost, though—I’ve never been in this part of the library before.”
“No, I mean—I mean the library, in general. Shouldn’t you be out?”
She glared at me. “Don’t be a dick,” she said, this girl I just met. Of course, looking back on it, I had just offended her. “I go out plenty. I went out a ton last year and it wasn’t all that. What the fuck’s so great about having a half-dozen drunken frat boys pawing my ass in public?”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I just meant—.”
“You said what you meant.”
She had me there. I put down my hands and drooped my shoulders. Here’s this beautiful blonde that just appeared out of nowhere, and I had already fucked up things. “I’m sorry, OK? I’m just sorry.” I turned around. “Good luck finding your book.”
I again began looking for Michael’s cage. She didn’t come after me, and that was OK. I didn’t expect her to. It’s not like I’m a knockout or anything. Hell, I’d put on a few pounds since things ended with Nicole when I needed to shed about ten. So—yeah: I would’ve been surprised as hell if the hot blonde had followed me.
About ten minutes later, I finally spotted Michael at his cage. He heard me and looked up, surprised. “Hey, Craig, what’re you doing here?”
I told him what I was looking for you. “Do you have it?”
He held up the journal. “Got it this morning. You’re slacking again, bro. Nicole on your mind?”
Fucking Nicole. “No. Just going at things my own pace. Mind if I borrow it? Or are you not done using it?”
He tossed it to me and I caught it. “No, go for it, man. It’s pretty useful.”
Finally—some good news. “Thanks. I should have it for you on Saturday.”
Waving me away, he said, “Don’t bother. Just bring it to class on Monday.” Then he paused, and as I was about to walk away, he said, “Hey, did you see that girl up here?”
I nodded. “Blonde in a gray hoodie?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah, I just saw here. Scared the shit out of me. Why?”
He winked at me. “She’s something, man.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, she’s hot. Secondly, got a smoking bod. You can tell even with her wearing that hoodie. And third, I hear she’s some hotshot at one of the big sororities on campus. Smart, sexy and a great body—the axis of evil, my friend.”
He shrugged. “No idea. Not my scene.”
“Know her name?”
“Nah, we’ve never talked. She’s got a cage near here, though.”
What? “She told me she’s never been up to this part of the library.”
Again, he shrugged. “Who knows, man?”
I sure as hell didn’t. I lifted up the journal. “Thanks again, Michael.”
“Hope it’s useful, man.”
I waved and walked away, back to the elevator. Walking, I couldn’t help but think about the girl and her great smile. She was definitely beautiful. I wished I hadn’t fucked up things by opening my stupid mouth before thinking, but I had, and there was nothing I could do about it now. It did bother me, though, about why she lied about being up there. I tried dropping it. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter.
When I got to the elevator, she was standing there with a backpack slung across one shoulder, holding the book in the other hand. She heard me coming and frowned when she saw it was me.
“Get the book you were looking for?”
“I did.” She didn’t look at me.
“Is it one of his poetry? Or one about him?”
That got her attention. She turned and gave a crooked smile. “It’s one about him.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to say, and focused my attention on the approaching elevator. From the corner of my eye, I saw that she was still giving me that crooked smile. It was cute.
She turned and stuck out her hand. “I’m Maria.”
I turned and accepted it. “Craig.” I tried to let go but she hung on.
“Craig, since you were such an asshole to me earlier, how about buying me a cup of coffee across the street?”
I couldn’t help it: I laughed. This girl, she definitely had an attitude about her. And I liked it. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds nice.”
The three of us got something to eat in the sorority’s kitchen and then all took showers—separately, unfortunately. For the rest of the day, the girls worked on some homework that had been assigned over break and I cruised the Internet, checking out some pop culture and sports stories that I had missed since being so pre-occupied. At night, we watched a couple of movies, and then went to bed—Carmen in her bed, Maria and I in hers, my arm wrapped around her, holding her tight, not ever wanting to let go.