One Night Stand

“One Night Stand”
JULY 29, age 22
REALITY AS FICTION


I must write; I’m going out of my head, spiraling out of my mind…  I need release; there is so much inner chaos I might go mad!  I’m ill, nauseous…

I was able to talk to John at the end of the workday on Friday.  I had needed to; I wanted to discuss what was driving me mad with confusion.  What is my availability when my lover has a girlfriend of his own; I adore him, but should limit myself to someone I cannot be with? 

I tried to explain what was bothering me and when I paused, he simply said, “It sounds to me like you want to fuck this guy (Erik) and that you want to make sure I’ll still hang around if you do.”

Good grief.  I struggle with this for days, I can’t figure myself out, and then he just wraps it up in a nutshell?  My darling love…

We pull at each other and try not to agitate the other.  I hear it in his voice when he says it’s almost worse that I call to talk with him about it first; he thinks it might be better to just roll along and let him know if something happens. 

But I have to know.  He says he realizes that I must experience outside adventure, if only to keep me sedated when I cannot be with him.  Playing this sort of Mistress demands it.  He admits to being jealous.  But, he reminds me, he refuses to put any restrictions on me because it would be unfair and because any time that he has done so with prior girlfriends, she has been resentful.  I say, “This is one girl who would appreciate your restrictions.”

“Really?”  He is skeptical, but I truly mean it.  It makes me feel more that he cares and that he is involved even when he isn’t there.  And so he lists my restrictions:

1- Only once.  Multiple partners are tolerable, but never more than one time with any, which could spark further development.

2- Limited kissing.  I can easily agree with this because I believe in the special spirituality of kissing, how much more intimate it is.

3- I cannot do certain things to others that I do to him, such as special ‘techniques’, etc.  I don’t know if this can be avoided.  I can apply the same techniques for the other’s pleasure but without the intensity of feeling that makes it feel so much better with John.

4- Details.  He wants to know everything that transpires.

If I’m afraid that outside interaction will drive him away, he says I am mistaken.  “You have my heart.”

So I hang up with him feeling much better.  I am still confused inside myself, but knowing what he thinks and feels alleviates some of the issue.  Do I really want to sleep with Erik, who is a safe, new and outside distraction from the world of chaos I’ve created?  I think I may just want something fresh and different.  Would it be worth it?  Would he be able to let it be just a one-time experience?  Or would he fall for me?  Would he want something more?  Would he misinterpret my intentions?  Do I need to clarify myself…?

Earlier in the day, feeling impulsive, I had emailed Erik a rather sexually stimulating note.  No promises, but simply pure sexual power play: forward, often intimidating questions, intimate and erotic.  About dreams and fantasies... questions I was sure would stimulate him.  Perhaps I should not have been so impulsive.

So that night I was very busy.  I stopped first at Melanie and John’s to pick up cash that he owed me… and so he could see me sleek and sophisticated in my tight, black, knee-length skirt slit on either side, and my snug, power-red, spaghetti-strap top.  I looked and felt very sexy.  I was restless for sex for sure by then, but still felt awkward that it would be with Erik.  As I left their apartment, John said something to the effect of, “Call us with details tomorrow if you get with Erik or Mike or Scott.”

He said this because first, Mike, the DJ, and I enjoy a prolonged infatuation with teasing each other.  Second, he was under the impression that Scott might be at the club on this night and he knows how attracted I am to him.  However, Scott I gave up on a long time ago.  Though he is nice and affectionate on the rare occasions I see him, I don’t believe he is interested further.  He’s had my number forever, but has never once called.

I met Dave at the Church for an early-evening cocktail and good conversation.  I always enjoy talking to him.  We visited for an hour before he had to go back to our club to work. 

I stayed for half an hour before following him, to maybe meet Erik, who had said he would be there and knew that I might stop in.  By 10:30 I was bored and moved to The Underground. 

Instantly I am outside of myself, watching as though I am a character in a movie.  Terry kisses my hand with that familiar heat that sends tingles up my arm because the expression in his eyes is so fervent and intense; he acts like my beauty is hurtful for him to behold. 

I walk through the other room and straight across the dance floor, climb the steps to the DJ booth and wait for Mike to turn around and see me.  He immediately says how good I look and also kisses my hand.  I smile and hurry to the restroom.  Upon return I stand before him, silent and watchful.  When he looks up and smiles at me, I use my finger to motion him closer as I lean toward him.  He responds with a soft, full kiss on my mouth.  I am acutely aware of the tingling sparks that shoot down my spine and into my sex.  Winking, I walk off, next moving to the bar that Dave is now tending.  I am standing here talking with him when Mike soon appears behind me, gyrating against my backside.  He introduces me to friends.  His intense flirting distracts me.  I’ve recently begun feeling used to it enough to enjoy it without being confused by possibility.  I am always careful with him.  We all take a shot before he excuses himself to roam the bar and socialize before he must play DJ again. 

There is a girl who seems to frequently appear near to me, being very bright and inviting.  She looks older and a bit worn and used: weary of life.  She wears tiny red shorts and a tight black top; her blond hair is piled on top of her head.  She smiles at me and I feet heat from her, knowing that she wants me.  In recent months of exploring my sexuality I have learned to recognize the same desire I only noted in men before. 

I am standing near the door to the main room with Justin when Scott arrives.  I had just been telling Justin that his girlfriend, JoDonna, is very attractive.  “Do the two of you ever get freaky?” I ask.  Shock factor response is an added bonus, flooding my system with the adrenaline of power that comes from putting someone back on their heels. 

But still: I am outside of myself, watching.  All that I say seems rehearsed or unfamiliar.  I definitely feel dangerous because I feel I have no control.  I feel everyone senses my longing for something new.  Or perhaps everyone simply seems to be responding to my silent plea.  Everyone and everything seems very sexualized. 

Justin asks me to elaborate on ‘freaky’.  I say, “O, addition or switching…”

“Switching?”  He is definitely surprised, but amused and a little interested.  I choose not to elaborate, but does he understand that I refer to he and JoDonna partner-switching with me and John?  I know John would love to have her, and I most certainly would be willing to have Justin for a night.  I find him very sexy: so quiet but smiling and stocky… 

He asks where John is and I explain that he is spending the evening in with his girlfriend.  In his handsome face I observe that my response causes him confusion.  He admits that he has wondered before about the situation but has never inquired.  I tell him that John and Melanie have been together a very long time and that he is very serious about her.  Justin says that he’s seen her and that she always seems unhappy and out of her element.  Elaborating, he says he’s thought to himself many times that John should keep strictly with me, that I seem much more compatible and so on.  In my effort to dismiss the chaotic situation I’ve found myself in between John and his girlfriend, Justin’s comments fade from me… 

As Scott approaches, Justin says something like, “Scott’s The Man.” 

I lean into his ear and insist, “Yes, but he never gives me enough attention.” 

He promptly turns to Scott to repeat my complaint.  Scott smiles at me.  We embrace and he asks, “Do you truly feel that way?” 

“O yes…” I let the idea waft through the air about us, suggestive and warm. 

Justin disappears, leaving Scott and I to stand there, searching for conversation.  The girl in the red shorts approaches and introduces herself as Ali.

The three of us make small talk.  At some point: separation.  I return to the bar while Scott makes rounds to greet friends.  Mike is socializing as well, while his friend, Joey, spins energetic, seductive house.  After ordering another drink, I situate myself at a table.  When I observe Scott approach the bar, I walk up behind him and whisper in his ear, “When you’re done, come sit with me.” He looks at me, offering a very sexy smile, a small question in his eyes, and agrees.  I turn smartly and return to my seat.

What am I thinking at this point?  I don’t know… I’m thinking that it is fact that I will have sex with Scott tonight.  I don’t wonder or plan; it seems simple fact.  I am not thinking, but waiting and watching. 

Everything seems predestined and predetermined, as though I am acting out a written script or a dream…  I feel a great impression of power because fate controls me and therefore I need not put forth much effort.  There is a strong sense of sex hanging heavy through the air, like the heat of ritual.  It presses upon me, colliding with the longing that already absorbs me.  Perhaps it is only in my head and I imagine the rest; perhaps everyone else in my proximity recognizes the pressure I feel to be uninhibited.  Maybe it is just the humidity in the summertime air, whispering potential and awakening.

Scott sits across from me at the tiny table.  I don’t remember that we talked much.  People seem to immediately gravitate toward us, to visit and socialize, leaving us without time to talk between ourselves.  I place my right calf up on his thigh while watching him talk with his friends.  He runs his hands over it, never pauses in his conversation, as though it is a natural behavior.  Against the flawless silk of my skin, his hands feel evermore masculine.  I like the way he rubs it, applying tender pressure as though he owns it or in reassurance that it is actually there. 

The motion in which events occur is astounding.  I am only my mind, recording the details of my behavior and that of others.  I am not feeling much of anything because I am too absorbed in the watching.  I feel good, surely, but I also feel that I don’t recognize myself.  Is that an attempt to forget John, whose presence in my head would surely darken my intention?  Or am I letting my body control me for the night rather than my mind?  The only thought I distinctly remember having was, at one point: “I should just tell him: let’s quit this game and just go fuck.” 

But I never needed to be so blunt.  It felt very right, as though it were meant to be for that night.  I was just coasting… Scott and I didn’t even really flirt except for his hands on my bare legs while we were sitting.  Was it my eyes that made him so aware of what I wanted?  What was different on this night than others?  Did my body radiate my heat; when I walked did my hips sway in invitation?  Was my sex written across my face or did it drip from my pouty lips?

When there is a brief interlude of socializing, I ask him what he is doing later.  He replies he is here to just listen to Joey, and then he has nothing planned. 

Does he ask me what I’m doing and do I say I’m not sure?  Does he invite me to his place or do I invite myself?  Regardless, it is decided: his, in fifteen minutes.

Two or three different people mention to me that Scott has a big dick - do I know that?  Although I have never cared yet about size either way, yes, I had head rumors.  In our niche of the world girls whisper excitedly about it and guys seem to accept it.  I am told this even as I stand before the turntables with him at my side!  It seems a comfortable topic of conversation amongst his friends.  He blushes and is modest when I lean into him to say, “You have great friends.”

So does that mean that everyone knows he and I plan to return to his place shortly? 

Reveling in the flirtation always suspended between us, Mike says to me, “I will fuck you, if…” he pauses, “with another girl.  You have to find her.”  The constant battle between his shyness and crush on another keeps his desire for me reigned, so it is no wonder that it would have to be a sure ‘experience’ for him to succumb.

I retort, “And will you only watch then?”

The light in his eye is beyond mischievous, but more hungry and eager and longing. “O no… I’ll fuck you.”

My interest is piqued; he seems more sincere than playful.  “That can probably be arranged.”

When I say farewell to Mike, he is spinning again.  After I announce my departure, he leans over the turntables to kiss me deeply, passionately, his tongue invading my mouth and wetting my lips.  When we separate, he says, “I’m a sloppy kisser when I’m drunk.”  I laugh and say I think he’s perfect.  And he is.  It is his kiss that fires my aching.  Yes, I was already sensualized; I knew upon arrival that my body needed attention.  But the time spent playing this game with him creates an intensity and awareness of desire.  And only a kiss, his kiss, could have such impact in this place, at this time.  It seemed as if meant to seal the pact of our game, to remind me of our game, and, of course, to tease and taunt me.  Lust slips from my sex and slides slowly down my naked inner thigh and I hate being vulnerable from such reaction.  He takes my hand and appraises me as I step back, then says, “Oh, and Nina?  Have a good time with Scott tonight.”  Winking, he flashes a knowing smile.  O, how he loves to play! 

Do I mind his knowing my plans?  No, I think not.  Scott will probably relate our fun to him later anyway, being so close as they are.  And he is so playful, so smiling, that I cannot believe he thinks anything ill of me for going home with Scott or that he might even be jealous.  I feel that he is pleased, as though he knows Scott will show me a good time or at least give me what it is I am after.

We drive our separate cars and meet at his house, the house where I was first so inspired to know he, Mike and their other crew… a house brimming and boiling with infectious sexuality and decadence.  Decadence… 

I arrive shortly before him.  I’m not nervous, but in fact very confident.  We walk through the front door and continue directly upstairs.  He asks, “So aren’t you John’s girl?” 

I try not to be short when I reply, “John has a girlfriend that he’s very serious about,” leaving it at that.  It is sometimes an annoyance that our world is very aware that John keeps a girlfriend and a mistress, but fails to realize that a mistress doesn’t often owe loyalty to what can’t make her priority.

Scott excuses himself to use the restroom and I meander through his bedroom, absorbing everything.  All the colors are dark, deep and rich: sensual.  Many things are packed, as he prepares to move in the next couple of weeks.  When he emerges from the bathroom, which is like the royal luxury of a sultan, there is no preliminary between us.  No conversation, only purpose.  We come together and begin to kiss…

He moves me backward toward the bed, then abruptly pulls his lips from mine and pushes me to the soft black duvet.  Over me he is intimidating in stature, a thick silver chain hanging close about his neck.  The aggression in his expression is hungry.  He covers me with his body, again kissing me.  I move my head to the side, inviting him to instead kiss my throat.  Moan… His hands are all over me and beneath my skirt, quick to discover and explore my panty-less sex dripping and waiting.  I feel the immense size of his hardness beneath the fabric of his pants.  His lips fall hot and moist across my collarbone, arms, thighs - everywhere, but not to my sex.  Instead, I push him away and gaze up at him seductively.

“Take off your clothes.” I say quietly, never letting my eyes stray from his.  He tries not to rush, but I sense his anticipation. 

When his sex is freed before me at eye level in its complete naked entirety, I must be conscious of not revealing any reaction.  His penis is very large: no rumor could ever do it justice.  Sitting on the edge of his bed with him standing so that his manhood is confronting my face, it is even more impressive.  I suspect he doesn’t receive oral sex often because it is simply much too large, but I am more than willing to give it a go.  I usually do more licking, tasting and feeling anyway.  It is the thickness of it that is so breathtaking.  I cannot even take it partially into my mouth without being afraid I might rake him with my teeth.  I do what I can and when he begins softly groaning, I become very excited.  Looking up at him, I whisper, “Would you like to fuck me?”

He looks down at me and nods, “Yeah, I want to fuck you.”

Leaning back on my elbows, I scoot farther down the bed, never once losing eye contact with him. “Then fuck me.”

He proceeds to pick up a condom, which had been apparently waiting on the floor beside the bed, and puts it on.  And then his masculine frame is upon me, like an animal.  He slips easily inside me, which I had thought might prove difficult.  He so fills me that I must gasp for breath before his hand closes around my neck possessively.  I am amazed: do I look like I would enjoy such behavior, does he feel it from me, or is he just guessing? 

O, but I love it!  I love even more that I didn’t have to insinuate or verbally ask for it.  His grip is strong, but not overbearing; I feel I am in no danger but that it has provided just enough adrenaline to course through my veins, making me hotter and wetter.  The impression that for this moment he owns me, wants nothing else, is beyond intoxicating.

I roll him over, situating myself across his waist, taking him straight up and into me.  His hands and mouth devour my tits and every inch of my flesh.  He slips a finger into my ass… it was almost too much; I almost came, but that I was thinking more about what was happening rather than simply feeling and enjoying. 

Leaning into his ear, I move around on him and say,  “Do me from behind.”

He is perfectly eager and immediately flips me over, almost roughly, which I adore.  I am amazed that his kind of sex is what I am always ravenous for.  He is just the right amount of rough: dominant, aggressive… and kinky.  As he begins to pump me from behind, he grabs a handful of my hair for leverage, pulling my head back, accentuating the delicate line of my throat.  O, I would certainly climax if I could just stop thinking!

After time basking in my thoughtful pleasure, he leans into my ear and says he wants to cum on my tits. “O yes,” I murmur, “Please cum on my tits…” The idea is appealing, perhaps after months of intense lovemaking rather than demanding vulgarity.

Again he flips me over with his sheer strength, as though I am a mere doll.  I lie there and watch him stroke himself to climax above me.  How salacious it made me to watch him handle himself so!  I had never witnessed a man masturbating and it was terribly exciting to observe him in what might otherwise be a private moment, to watch how he handled his cock with such authoritative intimacy.

And then we are done.  Fifteen minutes of pure, unadulterated, unabashed sexual relief.  Did I find it? 

He asks if I need anything, offering a cloth to clean myself up with.  We spend some time talking after first redressing in case anyone happens to unexpectedly arrive, which is often when living with roommates. 

Again he brings up John, asking that I explain the complex situation everyone otherwise only bears witness to, but never understands. 

When I mention, offhand, that I’ve been with him for the past year, Scott becomes flustered and upset.  He feels bad because obviously John and I have something between us, regardless if he has a girl or not.  This sparks great irritation in me and I ask, adamantly, “Do you really think it’s fair that I keep myself solely for John when he can only see me when it’s convenient?  Do you think it’s really fair that I have no experience because I wait for someone I can’t ever truly be with?” 

He pauses thoughtfully.  No, he doesn’t think it’s fair.  But it doesn’t change that he feels remorse, which in turn makes me feel guilty.  I don’t want Scott to regret sleeping with me just because he fears John will be upset.  In an effort to console him (such a badass, though so gentle and sensitive…), I say that John already knows I might sleep with him and is okay with it.  However, the information disturbs him further; the idea that John and I had discussed such things without his ever knowing bother him.

The conversation jars my detachment back to the cold of reality, stealing me from the warm comfort of my watchful state.  This is the instance I feel resentful; why can I not enjoy myself without repercussion?  Why can’t anyone know pleasure without damage, without anxiety and fear?  Often I wish I never returned to waking life.  Although I spend such time thinking when lost in the moment, it seems that thinking on it afterward is what tarnishes the perfect fantasy.

I get the impression that he also feels as though I’ve succeeded in some sort of conquest; often others remind me that I am the untouchable possession: not owned, but not available to be pursued. 

We fall asleep beside each other, fully clothed.  As we slumber, he does not cuddle me, although he keeps a hand on some part of my body at all times. 

At noon we finally wake.  He returns a phone call from the bed beside me, caressing the length of my legs while I massage his calves and hands. 

Before leaving I quip, “I hope you don’t feel that I was using you for sex.”  I am only half-kidding.

He surprises me when he says, “Yeah, I do.  But it’s okay.”

And it is how he says it, so gently and almost hurt.  I feel bad… but what does he want?  He’s never called me or indicated that he would ever want me for anything more.  Perhaps he’s never felt used by a female and it is always him doing the using? 

I really do not take any pleasure in him feeling such a way.  I like him a great deal… but does he want me to start chasing him?  He also worries about John…


I leave, my head whirling.  I drive directly to work, still dressed so sexy from the night before, smelling of Scott and sex. The heat of the day is beating down and I feel even dirtier.  After salvaging my job, I return Melanie’s call.  “So you’re almost off work, then?” she asks. 

I reply that I haven’t gone and haven’t even been home since last night. 

She shrieks in my ear like an excitable feline female, demanding to know where I’ve been.  I know John is sitting next to her, absorbing that end of the conversation. 

When I reveal that I’ve been with Scott, she becomes even more ecstatic.  I hear John in the background asking what all the commotion is about.  “Please, let me tell him!”  Melanie pleads. 

I think she would think it strange not to let her, so I agree on the condition that she let me talk to him after.  I think she is more thrilled about my night than I am.  When John gets on the line, he immediately asks if Scott was big as the rumors are.  Yes.  Did I cum?  No. 

I say, “John, please, Scott feels badly about it.  He’s afraid you’ll be upset.” No worries, he assures me…


Melanie and I meet for coffee so I can provide her with details of my evening adventure.  Her enthusiasm is contagious; she insists she is jealous.  I float about feeling as though I haven’t been intimate with him at all, but rather it was just a dream I had in the night…  Even in recollection, it seems it was only made up.  I cannot remember how it felt or what exactly it was like, only that it happened. 

I finally return home at 3 in the afternoon, every part of me exhausted.  My brain is spinning, I cannot stop thinking of Scott and Mike and John.  What have I created now?  What will Mike think?  Will he now for sure think I am off limits because I have been with his best friend?  Will he think I am simply a slut who cannot control her primal impulses?  Will Scott provide him with details; will he say I was bad or good or neither?  Will Mike want me more or less?  God, my head…