I still have every curve memorized.
Some people leave marks on you so indelible that they live on in your head, as vivid as they were in the moment, decades after the fact. Some of these marks are emotional, heavy in the way they sit on your heart when life quiets down just long enough for you to reflect. But this girl—for the purposes of this tale, let’s call her Heather—she lives on not in my heart or my head, but in the dark recesses of my inner desires. We ended badly, and in hindsight, there wasn’t much to us outside of the messes we made. But the sexual awakening she inspired in me, and the fact that nearly fifteen years later, the mere thought of her has my hand reaching for…
I don’t miss Heather. Even as our exploits fill my head and coat my chest on a semi-regular basis, I have no real desire to be with her again. Sexually or otherwise. At the time, I thought I was in love with her, but time has shown me it wasn’t love so much as a misplacement of the carnal obsession that had taken over. Yet the feelings she inspired, the doors she opened for me, without even truly realizing it…the older I get, the more I learn to embrace my inner freak, the more I realize I have Heather to thank for much of it.
Even now, when I think of my “type”—to the extent that I even have a type—she’s the perfect example. As tall as me (just north of six feet), nearly black hair that reached midway down her back. Breasts large enough that I could barely contain even one of them in both hands. An ass to match, and all those curves to go with them. But more important than the curves, knowing how to accentuate them, use them. Were this some sleazy porn studio, they would either not let her in or relegate her to some “undesirable” three-letter fetish. But she was the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with, and I’m not too proud to admit she still leaves me hard as a rock years later.
Full disclosure: I’ve not met many women in my almost forty years who ooze pure sexuality. Not in real life, anyway. I’ve met plenty online. Between places like Fetlife and OnlyFans and social media, there are plenty waiting for you if you know where to look and how to act. But in real life? When the Great Beyond handed out active sex lives prior to our births, I must’ve been elsewhere. My luck with women—and with sex in general—has been sorely lacking, to the point where I’ve willingly gone years without the attempt. Because it wasn’t worth the hassle and the stress and the self-doubt.
But Heather? I knew the night I met her that I’d be inside her before too long. She was the first woman I’d met whose sexual prowess and availability were obvious to me before we were even properly introduced. I’m not sure I could tell you how or why I knew that. I just did. It was instinct, I think, much the way it was often instinct if I wound up crushing on someone I knew I had no shot with. But the first time Heather’s dark eyes met mine, one Halloween night where she was wearing a corset and dress seemingly built specifically to show off her assets, instinct kicked in.
Remember that old Spider-Man panel, when Peter Parker walks in and finds Mary Jane Watson? And she calls him tiger and tells him he hit the jackpot? That was me when our eyes met.
Full disclosure, part two: I’ve never been much of a flirter. I’m not good at it, and I’ve never been able to tell when others are flirting with me. If someone’s into me, I need a 400-word press release, a flashing neon sign, and a Breaking News bulletin on CNN. Even then, I can’t guarantee I’d get the hint. But the night I met Heather, we were flirting almost as soon as we shook hands. She no doubt caught the way my eyes immediately went to her cleavage—I tried to be subtle about it, but they were, quite literally, right there. Looking was more a physical tic than a conscious choice.
But the wry little half smile she gave me, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand as she withdrew, I caught that sign. Clear as day.
Also clear as day? When I stepped out of my friend’s apartment for a cigarette break (yes, I used to smoke—sue me), she followed me. My friend’s apartment building was just off the main campus of the college he was attending at the time (that I had just graduated from), and it was nestled between two other apartment buildings to leave a strip of pavement that could only laughably be called a parking lot between them. I stood, cigarette burning away in my mouth, completely ignored, as Heather started making her flirting a bit more…obvious, I guess would be the applicable term.
“I like having my hair pulled,” she blurted out when I finally took a drag of my cigarette.
Considering she laughed when I stopped mid-inhale and practically coughed up a lung, I’m convinced she did this on purpose. But she at least had the decency to pat me on the back as I worked to stop hacking before my coughing became vomiting. She even lightly ran her nails over the spot between my shoulder blades (note to self: the jolt that ran down my spine when she did that went straight to my groin).
“Like, in general?” I asked, because I am one smooth motherfucker.
To Heather’s credit, she laughed again. Nothing outlandish, just a slight giggle accompanied by a dip of the chin and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I tossed my half-smoked cigarette to the pavement and stomped it out. I didn’t know it that night, but that was the last time I ever lit up.
“No, but like…” I tried again, more confident in my own brain this time, “could I just walk up to you here and now and pull on it, or do we have to be fucking first?”
Heather had backed up against the brick wall of the apartment building by this point, grabbing the purple skirt portion of her Halloween costume—that just so happened to droop to her ankles and hide her knee-high black leather boots (note to self: add those to the fetish list). Her eyes bore right into mine as the skirt hiked up, inch by inch, until I could see all the way to her upper thighs. My heart rate jumped so much I thought the damn thing would climb out of my throat, but my eyes stayed glued to her. I normally only got to see shit like this on a computer screen. But Heather was just a couple feet away.
Heather cocked her head ever so slightly, just enough that hair fell in front of her face. Somehow, that move was even hotter than the fact that she was inches away from showing me what she had on underneath the skirt. She also inhaled, long and slow, knowing full well it made her chest rise. Knowing full well it looked like her tits were inflating. Not that they needed it; they already looked like they were about to pop out of her corset any second.
“Only one way to find out,” she damn near whispered. Like, I wasn’t sure I’d heard her at first. But the expectant eyebrow told me I had.
Great. The ball was in my court. Have I mentioned how bad I was at basketball? And flirting? And noticing when others found me sexually attractive? Yeah, I’m so bad at that, I had almost no idea how to proceed. Like, I had everything but the glowing neon sign and I was still firmly planted where I was standing. Yet the more her dark eyes hooked onto mine, the more I found myself no longer thinking of any of those things. Or thinking at all, really, because before I knew it, I was pressing her up against that wall with a hand on her shoulder and my lips were inches from hers.
Which was when she placed a finger on my lips and gently pushed.
“Ah ah,” she cooed with as broad a shit-eating smile as I had ever seen. “You smell like Marlboros.”
Well…yeah. She had just seen me smoking one until she decided to go all Amish Playboy on me. Still, our faces were inches from each other. All I had to do to fully press myself against her was take one step forward. She grabbed my left wrist instead and lowered my hand by her hip. That brow of hers rose again, and I grabbed a firm handful of her butt cheek. Our eyes locked and I took that step forward.
Heather leaned into me, turning her head to the side to expose her neck. Which I took as the neon sign I had been looking for. Squeezing the flesh in my grasp (if she was wearing underwear, it was most definitely a thong), nails digging in ever so slightly, I ran my tongue along her pulseline. She gasped and pressed harder against me. My hips thrusted in kind, and for the first time, my crotch lined up with hers. She practically cooed into my ear and rested a hand on my chest. The hand that didn’t have a hold on her ass reached up to grope her through her corset. Even through the leather and the frilly white top that went with it and the bra underneath, I felt her nipple. Both hands squeezed.
Her hand disappeared. And squeezed on something else entirely.
“You gonna spin me around and bend me over?” she whispered in my ear.
Which was when my friend, Keith, decided to have the absolute worst timing ever, coming out of his apartment with the rest of our crew. Eight people total, all dressed up in a variety of different costumes. Keith and I were Jay and Silent Bob for the night—I was Jay as the taller and decidedly more slender of the two—and I had never been so annoyed to see the backward Mooby’s cap and the trenchcoat. I had forgotten not only that Heather and I were part of a larger group enjoying the night, but that we had also decided to hit up a late-night diner for a meal to wrap up the evening.
As much as I had looked forward to that—this was, after all, the last time some of us would see each other for years; graduating from college and entering the workforce sometimes had the unfortunate side effect of making longtime friends move to different parts of the country—I was suddenly hungry for something else entirely. Heather cleared her throat as I discreetly adjusted myself—not an easy task in sweatpants—and couldn’t hide her smirk. I gave her a look that let her know how badly I wanted her right then and there, but it seemed that was the end of our courtship for the night.
Even so, given my luck when it came to this sort of thing, the near-fuck still counted as a “good” night.
To this day, I can’t tell you what Heather saw in me. I’m not even sure she’d be able to tell you. It was just one of those things where two people instantly found a connection with each other. For whatever cosmic reason, her body and mine set off all the right signals with each other, and we were magnetically charged and destined to find each other. She tossed looks my way the whole time we were eating as a group, making sure I saw the way her tongue twirled around her straw, making a point of arching her shoulders when she sat up straighter, because she knew that would make her chest stick out all the more. All four men at the table noticed, but somehow, I knew the show was for my eyes only. So I was content to let the other three guys look. I hoped it gave them good jack-off material later that night.
I knew it would for me.
To my surprise, though, Heather gave me her phone number when the night ended and we went our separate ways. It was nearly three in the morning by this point, and while it wasn’t unusual for me to still be awake this late in those days, the fact that I was still sober was the strange part. Heather said she had to get to her job, and I had gotten back into my red Pontiac thinking the night was another missed opportunity. Fun in its own way, but ending the same unsatisfactory way nights like this always did: with me in my bed, cock in my hand, working myself to orgasm instead of someone else doing it for me.
But as soon as I got into my car, my phone blinged at me. Who the fuck was texting me at three in the morning?
I smiled when I saw the display on my flip phone. Heather.
Too bad you had to leave so soon. ;)
My thumbs worked as fast as they could, considering we still had to tap the number pads to get letters to come up when texting. Why’s that?
The phone rang.
Shit, Heather was calling me.
My heart was doing that throat thing again when I answered. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
Ugh, that sounded arrogant as hell. Note to self: can that shit right now.
“You should’ve stuck around a little longer.”
“And why’s that?”
“I had to change out of my Halloween costume before leaving. You could’ve seen me in my bra and panties.”
Shit. This drive home was going to be a bit difficult. I swallowed the lump in my throat and glanced into the rearview mirror. Not that I could see anything other than headlights and stoplights. “I half-expected you not to be wearing panties.”
“I almost didn’t. But it was too cold for commando tonight.”
“Not sure I could’ve controlled myself,” I admitted, though I’m not sure why.
“I was kinda counting on that.”
I burst out laughing, which was great, because the tension was really starting to get to me at that point. I could only handle the racing heartbeat for so long. “Not sure Keith would’ve liked that.”
Heather scoffed and laughed on the other end. “We would’ve kicked him out first.”
My laugh grew louder. “Kicking him out of his own room to fuck. Pretty sure that’d be the end of our friendship.”
“I like to think my pussy’s worth it.”
This time, I was the one doing the eyebrow thing. Not that she could see it. “Oh, really, now?”
“Mm-hm.” She was oh so matter-of-fact about all this. She was borderline cocky and yet…that only made me want her even more. As evidenced by the hard cock I had trapped by both my sweatpants and the seatbelt. Fuck, and I still had another twenty minutes before I got home. “I’d take you places you’ve never been.”
Wouldn’t be that impressive, but she didn’t need to know how woefully inexperienced I was when it came to this. I finally had someone who was apparently attracted to me, and I didn’t need to go around saying or doing anything to fuck it up. At least let me have one night with Heather before I set the whole thing aflame with my awkwardness and decided lack of cool.
“You have been staring at me all night,” I mentioned.
“And you me.”
“Can you blame me?” Another check of the rearview as I merged onto the interstate. “You practically undressed for me.”
“Only because you weren’t doing it for me.”
“Well, next time, just say the word.” I was shifting in the driver’s seat because by now, the boner was getting uncomfortable. Confident because of the lack of traffic on the highway and the fact that there were no state troopers camped out in the usual spots, I undid my seat belt long enough to adjust myself, pulling my sweatpants to my thighs just to get some damn relief before latching the belt again. Now, my cock sat on top of the seat belt.
Must more comfortable. Even though I was throbbing so hard I didn’t need to be touching myself to feel it.
“You’re hard, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Gods, I really sucked at playing coy.
“The way you hissed under your breath just now.” Okay, add Clark Kent-level hearing to the things Heather could do. No use in lying, then, right?
“Then yes,” I admitted. “I’m hard as a fucking rock right now and I wish you were in the passenger’s seat sucking on it.”
“Road head,” Heather teased, her voice taking on a lower, breathier quality to it. It gave me another one of the jolts. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Less dangerous than taking care of this thing myself,” I quipped, my heart now racing so fast I was practically shaking. The bead of sweat running down my brow was almost as intense as the throb in my thick shaft. “Gotta have both hands on the wheel and all.”
Never mind the fact that I was already driving one-handed, because I was holding onto the damn phone. There was no way I could keep on having this conversation and tug on my cock while driving. It was another agonizing fifteen minutes before I’d get home. Fifteen long, frustrating minutes until I could strip out of this costume, climb into bed, and give myself the same tug and pull I did every night, with the same predictable result.
I could already tell, though, Heather was going to make the resulting mess far bigger than usual.
“Gotta get one of those headsets. Great for masturbating on the road.”
“Or you could just invite me over tomorrow night and let me do what I should’ve done when we were in the parking lot earlier.”
Heather’s voice caught and she moaned. She actually moaned. I felt the precum ooze from my swollen head, and the way my shaft strained in response, it’s a wonder I didn’t blow right then and there. I bit my lower lip and stole one more glance in the rearview. Still no traffic. I shifted in the seat so my cock would rub against the seatbelt. It didn’t feel quite as good as I’d hoped.
“And what’s that?” Heather offered. “Were you about to fuck my brains out up against that wall?”
Fuck it. No use hiding it at this point. “Yes.”
Heather moaned again, long and low, and I just knew deep down she didn’t have both hands on her steering wheel. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to pull off the highway, find a dark spot at a closed gas station or something like that, and take care of matters myself.
“Tell me again,” she whispered around another moan.
“I was gonna pull your panties to the side and fuck the shit outta you,” I said with far more conviction and confidence than I had ever had about this sort of thing. Hell, for all I knew, if I had tried that, I would’ve exploded in three pumps. Four, if I was lucky. Yet in the heat of the moment, with this big-breasted goddess I just met moaning and cooing in my ear, I felt like a goddamn porn star.
You know, aside from the fact that my cock didn’t resemble a baseball bat and I was more beanstalk than stud.
“Were you gonna fondle my tits?” Heather’s breathing was rapid and shallow, and she had to pause every few words to let out another moan. “Pinch and tweak my nipples while you rammed into me?”
There was a large dollup of precum on the seat belt. Which was interesting, because I wasn’t typically a heavy pre-cummer. “Among other things.”
“Oooh…got plans for my tits, do you?”
“You could say that,” I muttered, not trusting myself to say too much more without losing control. I had just pulled off the interstate and had a few more minutes before home—and blissful release—was in sight.
“You wanna stick your cock in between them?”
What kind of question was that? Of course I did! What red-blooded man who liked women wouldn’t want to stick his cock between glorious, round, luscious tits like hers? If ever there was a pair of breasts that deserved a good dicking down, followed by a massive milky cumshot, hers definitely fit the bill. She likely already knew this. Hell, for all I know, dozens of others had already done just that. Maybe she just wanted me to admit it.
And I was not nearly cool enough not to.
“Fuck yes,” I practically hissed.
There was another one of those moans, followed by what could be best be described as a groan that was frustration personified. “I’m sorry, but I just got to work. Tell you what, I’m gonna text you my address, and you’re gonna come over tomorrow night, and you’re gonna show me what you were gonna do to me. Deal?”
My mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Because…since when does shit like this happen to me? But I pulled myself together far quicker than I thought I would, just in time to pull into my driveway and shut the engine off. With a sigh, I reached down and gave my cock a tug. It was as stiff as it had been in a long, long time, and the simplest touch was almost enough to make me lose control.
No. Not here. I was not blowing my load all over the steering wheel.
“Deal,” I managed without my voice cracking.
“Good. Oh, and one more thing…no cumming until then.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my cock, my head glistening in precum under the streetlight. Fuck…